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A kp:ntucky love tale, ^ 


HASED ON OUR SYSTEM OF JUDICIAL ROP.BEKV AND 


A CRIME UNPARALLELEDi. 



OLD ANTHONY. 


W. vJ- 

Author ok “Solomon’s Story,” “Under the Auroras,” etc.. 




PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR, /- 

Cincinnati, O.. A. D. 1888. 



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Old /^Qtl709y’8 Seeret 


A KENTUCKY LOVE TALE, 


BASED ON OUR SYSTEM OF JUDICIAL ROBBERY AND 
A CRIME UNPARALLELED, 



PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR, 
Cincinnati, O., A. D. Ifi88. 


Dedicated to the Honorable Legal Fraternity, 
Professors of the Science of Delay. 


Copyrighted 1888 . 

Right of Dramatization Reserved. 

W. J. Shaw. 


4 : 


PREFACE. 


First of all, the reader of light literature deniaucb of 
the author that he shall be amused aud iuterested, and 
pure, fiction ansAvers that demand quite as well as fact. 
It may, therefore he no commeudation of the following 
story, to say that it contains rather more of fact than 
fiction. Yet it will probably not render it less interesting 
to any reader to know that the main story is of record in 
Kentucky, and that nearly all of the characters introduced 
have been sketched, Avith what degree of A^igor or Aveak- 
ness the reader Avill determine, from real Kentuckian©, 
not a feAV'of Avhom 11 gu red in the events narrated. The 
identity of one of thcju, at least, it would bo impossible 
to conceal from Kentuckians, nor indeetl from the reading- 
public of the United States generally, since his Avas a 
strange career, ending in a crime that before or since has 
had no i^arallel in the United States iior indeed in the 
Avoiid Avithin a century. It Avas a ])r(‘ss sensation of 
both Continents and Avill doubtless lx* ri'calhal. 

That the Author Avas couversaut at the time with the 
events narrated, and had an acquaintance Avith tlie peo- 
ple Avho figure in this story, may be inferred from tiie 
folloAviug corresiKUidence. The fictitious name of tin* 
gentleman Avho Avrites, adopted by the Author, is appended 
to his notes. 


W. J Shaw, Esq., Evening Post — 

My Dear Sir : — 1 am informed by a creditable mutual 
friend tliat you are about to publish a story based upon 
(Ik* assassination of Supreme Court Judge Elliott, in 
which I am to figure in an undignified comedy role. I 
sincerely liojx* my informant is mistaken and that such is 
not OIK' of (he ulterior purposes of your book. But to 
])revent trouble, I wish (o say in advance, that 1 will hold 
you personally responsible, if by either name or circum- 
stance, I am identified in such a character. You can 
rely upon this as a blank, sober reality. Yes, sir! 

Pes])ect fully, &c., Ernest Erek, 

Adair, Ky. 


To Judge Ernest Free: 

My Dear Sir : — I am about to, publish such a story. 1 
eominend it to you for a careful reading. You (;an not 
l>ossibly read it without prolit — to the Author — because 
(his time 1 am my own publisher and you will of (course 
purcliase a cojiy. 1 assure you that t have endeavored to 
make it entertaining with the '‘ulterior purpose” in view 
ot making it profitable. You will find it special) v inter- 
esting— it could not be otherwise with Judg-e Free in it. 
But [ hold you in too high esteem lo represent you in cari- 
-f believe you will not be angrv at vour 

^ discover it, and that it will fiirnish no 
Tunii n' ^ rupture of that friendship which we have 
H rf it should, and vou will give 

me notice, I will siniplv run away. 

Respectfully yours, &c., ^Y. J. Shaw. 

To 'VY, J. SiiAW : 

I sure it is al) right. But vou know 
how ikii/c sensitive I am to notoriety of anv kind Or, 

TotoriX att "T an mieviahlr 

shoulci you know hhnk ivoll I 
would shoot you to a eertaintv. Yes, sir ! 

Yours fraternally, ■ ’ 'ebnest Feee. 


‘pLD ^fvlTHONY’p ^ECf^ET: 


oi;, 


The Science Of Delay. 


CHAPTER I. 

MA.IOFi GAUTIER ISSUES SOME PARTIXG IXJUXCTIOXS AXD 
GOES TO SLEEP. 

^pHE sppond liouse iii iiiagnitudo, but first in adorn- 
iiient, in tlio little nioiintain liamlct of Adair, is that 
owned and occupied, time out of mind, by the Gautier fam- 
ily. It would not be suspected of having been originally 
built of logs, for the Major had covered it Avith boards and 
jiainted it ; had constructed two dormer Avindo^vs, be- 
iK'ath peaked gables projecting from tlie roof, and built 
a latticed porch along the front, OA'er Avhich, years ago, 
Avild honeysuckles of A'arioiis kinds and other Aunes, Avith 
Avhich tlie mountains abound, had been trained so thick as 
(piite to hide; it in summer. Magnolias, interspersed Avith 
cedars and pines, stood in the yard and those most beau- 
tiful of flowering shrubs, the laurels and ivy greens^ 
bordered the central path and flanked the house on both 


6 


OLD A^ TIIO^’Y S SECKET. 


sides. Just how he came by his title the Major himself 
liad probably forgotten. Fie was, in fact, the physician ot 
the haml(‘t. I perceive my diary says of him, that when lie 
was on one occasion very sick. Deacon Herder came to 
see him. 

"Major,” said he, “1 have come to read, if you will per- 
mit me, the liible to you. 1 know your opinion of me has 
been none of the best, but it is my duty to otter you, in 
your sickness, the consolation to be found in the Bible.” 

“In the Almanac, Mr. Herder, in the Almanac, you 
mean,” said the Major. 

“Your physician tells mo and, as I suppose you are 
aware, that at the best, you are not long for this world, 
IMajor.” 

“Whdl, well! Mr. Herder, havii't t a right to die? the 
Major's grandfather died in this house and was buried on 
the mountain side yonder. The Major's father died in 
tlfis house and was buried by -Jiis father's side on the 
mountain, and it would be devilish hard, Mr. Herder, if 
lh(‘ Major should be denied that privilege.” 

ThenuiixHi, my diary says, the Major quietly folded his 
liands and delibcn-ately went to sleej). The Major had 
three sons, who had left the hamlet and gone out into the 
busier world. One was a ])hysician, one a preacher and 
one a lawy(‘r; l)ut tlu' fourth ajid last, his Benjamin, the 
joy of his old ag(\ whom he had named after himself 
Nathaniel Gauti(n*, what should he make of him ? 

“[ hav'e, Mrs. Gautier,'’ said the Major to his wife, “fre- 
quently enougli, in my lifetime, been called upon to decide 
and decide quickly, when life and death were at issue — 
where the vital forces were almost (‘xhausted witli the 
battle, on one side, and the battalions of disease were 
beginning to shout victory on the other, and I have always 
])romptly placed the battery, which T carry in my saddl(‘ 
bags, at the disposal of one party or the other, and ended 
the contest, Mrs. Gautier, ended the contest. If by some 
well delivered sliot from my battery, victory has perched 


OLD axtiioxy's secket. 7 

upon tlie banners ot* the vital forces and they have kept 
possession of the uuin's body, I have l)een enabled to tell 
liim without hesitation wliat to do with his stomach, 
Mrs. Gautier, Avhat to do with his stomach.'’ 

•df you could count them, you have had a great many 
stomachs on your hands, Major.'’ said Mrs. Gautier. 

“True, and soni(‘. on my conscience, Mrs. Gautier. It is 
(‘asy enough todinn-t a person what to do with his stom- 
ach ; but where there are no decided symptoms, as with 
Nathaniel, it is very difficult to det('rmine Avhat he should 
do with his brains, Mrs. Gautier, what he should do with 
his brains.'’ 

“Perhai)s, then, it would he as well to let him do with 
them as he i)h‘as(‘s," suggested Mrs. Gauticu-. 

‘•\V"iiich would be ecpii valent to doing nothing with 
tiieni at all. No, he shall study a litrh* mcdiciin', and a 
little law, and a little tlieology; then if he shall manifest 
no decided ])r('f(;renc(‘, JNlrs. Gautic'r, no decided pi-efer- 
ence, why we lunn; honored (cich one of the ])rofes8ions 
ali’eady with a Gautier, and it will lx; d(‘vilish strange, if 
we can not atford to have one of the name a geiitleman, 
Mrs. Gauti(*r, a gimtleman.” 

It was in accordance with this resolution, therefore, 
mad(; y('ars Ixdbix', t hat a few days betbre his death, the 
Major called Nathaniel to his bedsich' and gave him his 
parting injunctions. Nathaniel was at that time some 
twenty years of age, a broad-shouldered youth, light- 
liair<'d, bliK'-eycxl, liglit-footed as a mountain goat and as 
light-heart(Hl as a mountain mocking bird, which, with its 
repertory of songs, he further resembled in tin' undigested 
medh'y of ideas which he had picked up indiscriminately 
— historical, scientific and ixxdical. 

“Th(‘ Major, my son, is about to leave yon, T have sent 
out one son to kill or cure human bodies, as his ignorance 
may or may not stumble on the right specific: I have smit 
out another to do the same for souls, and still another to 
vindicate justice, or sustain fi-aud, as the interests of his 


8 


OLD AXTIIOXY'S secret. 


client and the uncertainties of the law may determine. His 
most profitable labors begin, after the others have made an 
end of theirs, so I sent him out last, my son, I sent him 
out last, I liavn't sent you out at all ; you Avill stay with 
your mother as long as she lives,and take care of her ; after 
she dies you will take care, first of the old houso and next 
of yourself, my son, next of yourself. Never having seen 
him, you can not presume to have had a familiar acquaint- 
ance with your great grandfather, and you are forced to 
assume, from what I have told you, that he was a more 
honorable and remarkable man than you can ever hope to 
be. Had you known him intimately, you might be jus- 
tified in reaching a different conclusion ; but that is impos- 
sible now quite impossible now. You will, therefore, 
revere his memory and protect these logs, preserved by the 
plaster within and the weatherboards without, that 
were ])laced in position by the founder of the Gautier faiiD 
ily with his o\vn hands. Both the virtue and honor of an 
ancestor may be wanting in his son, and independently 
they are rarely the characteristics of two successive gen- 
erations The only safe way to i)reserve them is to cement 
limestone or season walnut logs with them; then so long 
as the stones remain together, or the logs lie on one an- 
other, virtue and honor will reappear in the family, my 
son, reappear in the family. You will perceive, therefore, 
the importance of protecting the homestead. I regret to 
sa}', that I have not been altogether as virtuous and hon- 
orable as a member of the Gautier family ought to have 
l)(?en; but then 1 have been very busy and not altogether 
able to afford it, my son, altogether able to afford it. You, 
however have been brought up to no vocation whatever, 
and by the v'ariety, rather than the profundity, of your 
acquirenKuits, have been prepared to take your place in the 
world as a gentleman ; and I hope you will never become 
too wise to regard the virtues with favor, nor too discreet 
to be regardless of your honor. Since I have left you the 
great bulk of my property, which is considerable for a 


OLD AXTIIOXY S SECRET. 


9 


iiiouiitaiQeer, you can afford, if you will, to be both vir- 
tuous and honorable. I have, therefore, but two injunctions 
to place on you ; love your mother and obey my commands. 
Siiould you need tlie counsel of your brothers in the i)ro- 
fessions, they will gladly give it to you; but, if possible, 
do your own thinking and stand by your own judgments.’’ 

This was a few days before tin; Major had folded liis 
hands and stubbornly gone to sleep in the presence of 
Deacton Herder, while that gentleman stood Bible in hand 
waiting for permission to read it. Deacon Herder waited 
sometiiiKMii respectful silence for the Major to open his 
eyes. He thought the Major could not so deliberately and 
suddenly go to sleep at all, and that it was perhaps only a 
ruse to be rid of him ; but ho did not feel justified in per- 
mitting his zeal in a good cause to cool short of an explicit 
refusal and he waited. The other members of the family 
had gone out to breakfast and left him there to keep the 
Major company and although he was well aAvaro that the 
Major could keep his eyes closed and hands folded quietly 
as long as the Deacon could sit and watch him, yet that 
the Major would find it quite impossible, to close his ears, 
which are the only imi)ortant portals, except the mouth 
in its relation to the stomach, to a man’s soul any way. 
Therefore, having resolved to get at the sick Major’s soul? 
through his oars, the Deacon opened his Bible at a place 
he lia;l marked, and began to read — ^‘The well have no 
niM'd of a physician but those who are sick,” etc. 

‘‘Not the half of them, Herder, not the half of ’’ — a shiver 
])assed through tlie Major's body and cutolT the last word. 

The Deacon did not heed the interruption and continued 
to read. Having read the second, and the third, and tin; 
fourth verses, without further interruption, he started out 
to do his whole duty. He knew the power of the Word and 
that, if he should only read v^erses enough, he would stand 
a good chance of including that which would just suit the 
Major's case and strike home. H(; therefore continued to 
read (‘liaj)ter after chapter; and grown bolder by the Ma- 


10 


OLD AM'110>NV Sj SKCKET. 


jor's s.ufferance, lie ventured at intervals, when some paS' 
sage struck liini as peculiarly suited to the Major's case, to 
inquire if he found any consolation in that. Tlien, having 
waited sufficiently long for the Major's reply, which the 
IVfajor persistently refused to give, he would proceed, lie 
observed, after a time, that the Major looked very pale ; 
hut tlien sick men w<M*e always pale. Ills eyes, too, had 
partially uncloseil, a circumstance which indicated that tip. 
Major's was not the repose of a painless body, if it were 
true, as he at length assured himself, that the Major had 
in fact fallen asleep. He was loth to disturb him, to whom 
his sleep was doubtless refreshing, and moved on tip-toe 
to the door to meet the members of the family returning 
from breakfast, ‘die sleeps, said the Deacon, in a whis- 
per to Mrs. Gautier.” 

“Tie sleeps.'’ rep(;ated Mrs. Gautier to her son, who went 
softly to his father's side and taking the cold hand in his 
own, said : — 

“Mother In* sleeps, but his spirit has winged its tlight 
upwards, far beyond the tops of his native mountains, and 
left us alone, you and your children.” Then the wid- 
owed mother thn'w herself down by the idol of her girl- 
hood, the stout, stern husband who had shouldered all 
her troubles, and wept. The son placed his arm about liis 
mother's neck, and lifting her led her away. 

“He commissioned me to lead you the rest of the way 
down the mountain,” said the young gentleman of 
Adair. 



01.1) ANTHUNv’s SHX'RK’i. 


11 


CHAPTER 11. 

Til K SAWYER FAMIT.Y MRS. S. REOOMES A WRITER OF ORAVE- 

STOXE EPIGRAMS SUE AVRITES ONE FOR TUE MAJOR. 

There are ghosts iu the mountains. If I am asked how 
I know there are ghosts in the mountains, I am prepared 
to answer decidedly, I have seen them. I hold no. opin- 
ions whatever on vexed qiicstlons; it beliooves one who is 
ignorant to be as politic as possible ; but after nightfall 
when the rising moon is bright and sky clear, and the 
mountain on the east casts its shadow over one-half of tlie 
little valley, and the tall trees sift the silv^er Hood through 
their branches over the remainder; and as they sway back 
and forth in the gentle night winds, chequer the little 
greensward to the west and the little grave-j^ard above it 
on the slope with ever changing and fantastic forms of 
light, I have seen the fathers of the hamlet and their stal- 
wart sons and daughters arise like bundles of mist from 
among the tombs where slabs of limestone mark their un- 
distingiiishable graves, glide noiselessly into the valley 
weapons in hand and stand sentries by the old log cabins, 
or apply tlie silent ax to the trunk of some forest giant 
that had suddenly sprung forth from a spot of earth on 
^wliicli it once lived and flourished, l)ut within which its 
roots liad long since gone to deca}'. 1 have seen painted 
warriors, with feathers in their heads, and ux)oii their legs, 
leap forth fi*om their saltpetre beds beneath the frowning 
cliffs, where side by side in rows they liad gone to sleep, 
or step out of their solitary stone coffins beneath a pyra- 
mid of rocks oii the higliest ridges and come down the 
mountain side to join their brothers in the valley. I have 
seen their ghostly forms flitting hack and fortli among ilie 
shadows, or stealing noiselessly away behind the dense 
slirubbery — I say^ I have seen them, in imagination. But 
vast numbers of the mountaineers havm seen tliem in fact, 
as they liave told mo often. They have their lares familiar- 


12 


OLD ANTHONY S SECUKT. 


ies, wliom they fear more than the living, although th(?y 
have relaxed BOiiiewhat in ceremonious forms of worship. 
'Idiey will not call on the ghost of a grandfather to witness 
a lie. Though I may doubt them, I can neither impeach 
their testimony nor disprove what they say. Of all the 
denizens of the hamlet, Mrs. Bartholomew Sawyer and 
Judge Ernest Free, the most learned and liberal minded 
man in the hamlet, had seen the greatest number. I con- 
sider it no wonder at all that Mrs. Bartholomew Saw\'er 
should see more than any one else, since her attention was 
most frequently directed to them Mr. Bartholomew Saw- 
yer was the hamlet’s cabinet maker and undertaker who 
had succeeded his father in that ajicient occupation. Ills 
business included the digging of the grave for as well as 
the inclosing and burial of the body. ^ Moreover, as he had 
come to realize his own great cajjacity for business and a re- 
markable genius i^ossessed by Mrs. Bartholomew Sawyei; 
he had added the occupation of constructing ‘dn Memo- 
riams.’' His contemplative mind had been directed to the 
fact, that numbers of the graves of their forefathers could 
not with any degree of certainty be designated by their 
descendants, who were by no means Avilling to trade off 
their ancestry for the ancestry of anybody else, a risk they 
would inevitably run by making a selection. The rough 
angles had been chix)pcdotf the limestone monuments, that 
was all, and they simply said to the living : ‘^We have laid 
us down in democratic equality — we are your ancestors.’’ 
Mr. BartholomeAV Sawyer had decided, that for tlie slight 
sacrifice of democratic principle involved in headstones 
of various styles and degrees of grandeur, the after-time 
would be more than compensated by the preservation of 
their names and i\\Q loom in quo of their ancestry, should 
the world ever remember to inquire about them, Mrs. Bar- 
tholomew Sawyer had supplemented these considerations 
by others of a more laudable and tender character. Her two 
elder children Tommy and Js^ancy, while they were vet 
young, died of scarlet fever. They both lav dead in the 


OLD A^TIIO^’y’s SECliET. 


13 


house at the same time, and Naucy the elder, a sweet little 
creature, had said just before she died: ‘‘It's dreadful. 
Mamma, to be put rii a coffin alone. WeVe always played 
together. Tommy and me ; if I die, tell Father to make a 
coffin big enough for two and put us in it, with my arms 
about his nock, audit won’t seem so lonesome then.” The 
bereaved father did as she wished, and the tears dimmed 
his eyes and fell fast upon the walnut boards as he 
smoothed them with his plane and cut them to his mea>- 
ure. Sympathizing neighbors came in and offered their 
crude skill with jack-plane and saw, but he would per- 
mit no one to help him. lie did his work in sorrow, and 
liis love made the final habitation of his children sacred. 
NV^ith his own hands he dug the grave, and feared lest the 
hands of sympathizing friends might ungently jostle his 
little sleepers, when they came to help him imt them away. 
But the mother, though she, herself, could never forget, 
and therefore needed no memento, yet would have the 
world remember them forever. It was not enough to 
plant a flowering laurel at their heads ; but BartholomeAV 
when Spring came, went up on the mountain side and 
quarried a smooth slab of sandstone that Avas soft enough 
to be cut by some of his Avorn out chisels, and brought it 
down to his shop. Having smoothed and dressed it, he 
engraved upon it Avith great pains and labor, what Mrs. 
BartholomeAV Sawyer had written : — 

“CHILDREN OF BARTHOLOMEW AND HANNAH SAWYER, 
Nancy Sawa’-er and Tommy her Brother lie Here. 

'Put my arms about Tommy,’ she said, ‘when I’ve died, 

Then just as we played, he will always be near. 

And it won’t be so lonesome laid side by side.’ ’’ 

This tombstone immediately became the subject of admi- 
ration especially to those, fully four-fifths of the i^opula- 
tion, Avho had never been beyond the foothills nor seen 
more magnificent displays of art and genius ; and when 
the sharp edge of the mother’s grief liad been worn off by 


14 


()L[) a.vthony’s secret. 


Tiiiie, so that tli(\v could venture to speak to her of her 
children, sIk^ was much praised for the verse upon it, uot- 
withstandiuo- tlie little angel, whose body rested beneath 
the lauri'l, was its author. The mothers heart had but 
e.( hoed tlie saying and the echo had lost in force. But the 
common miracle, jterformed by flattery, in convincing peo- 
ple that they are something better or greater than the>' 
know themselves to be, was eflected upon Mrs. Bartholo- 
mew Sawwer. It had presented an aim in life, fostered 
an ambition to become a writer of epigrams, for the tomb- 
stones, to the regular manufacture of which, out of sand- 
stone, Mr. Bartholomew Sawyer had set his hand. As her 
idea of what they should be was based on that of her own, 
which had proved a success, she made it a point, if possi- 
ble, to bo in at the death in order to catch the last words 
of the sufferer, as a basis for her composition. 

She and Mr. Bartholomew Sawyer -were sitting on the 
front porch whence they had been observing an eclipsi; 
during which the sun had assumed a gi’een asp<‘ct. There, 
old Hamp, who did light errandryin the liamlet, informed 
them of the Major’s death. 

‘‘Wy Lawd bress yo, chillen! jes afo de ’elipse, Majah 
fine he cawn keep de fawked (^end down no mo. and so he 
jes keel ober and gib up de contes ; he dead >]i<)o,“ 

“I must run up at once, Bartholomew. The Major 
wouldn't die without saying something remarkable I'm 
sure.” Tlirowing a shawl over her head and seizdug her note 
book, in which she recorded last words, Mrs, Sawyer 
hastened away. 

“Reckon I’ll want you to help dig the grave, I Tamp,” 
said the undertaker. 

“Jes so, honey, ole Ilamp will be thar if his mop handles 
'tinner to tote him about es usual. Wonder wdiar de white 
folks put ole Hamp when he cawn keep de fawked eend 
down no mo? it cumin mighty fas, chile, it cumin 
mighty fas.” 


OLD AXTDON'V S SKCUK T. 


15 


‘‘Diinno, llaiiip, but I’ll give you u tombstone ekal to 
eiiiiy of eni/’ 

‘^VV'y Lawd bress yo soul, honey, ef yo do, ole TIam]) 
bress } o’s long ’s he libs. Pick a dry spot, Massr Sawyer, 
pick a dry s^mt faw ole llamp, cos he got de rheumatiz ii, 
<lese ole bones mighty bad. Good mawnin, honey, eawn 
stay wif you no longeh dis ma.wnm.’’ And Ilamptoii 
White the oldest man, colored or white, and ])rofoiindcKt 
philosopher in the hamlet, shuftled slowly away with his 
tattered vestments, and bandaged feet. 

When Mrs. Sawyer bustled in at at the front door of the 
Gautier cottage, she met Deacon Herder coming out. He 
had remained to offer such consolation to the mother and 
son as the scriptures afforded, but the mother had betuj 
too much overcome with her grief to listen, and the young 
gentleman of Adair had said to Deacon Herder, when he 
persisted in his quotations : — 

‘‘We are very grateful. Deacon, for your consideration 
and sympathy, but having had a Bible in the house, Ave have 
taken the precaution to become familiar with its promises 
in advance, and it tvill be quite unnecessary to repeat them 
noAV.’’ 

Thereupon the Deacon, satisfied that he had done his 
duty, closed his book and came aAvay to be met as stated, 
by Mrs. Sawyer at the door. 

“His last Avords, Deacon, AAiiat Avere the ^Major’s last 
Avords ? ’’ 

“Ah!” sighed the Deacon and turned his eyes heaA^eu- 
Avard, “it Av^as no Avonder the sun turned black.” 

“Green, Deacon, Green. I saAV it myself.” 

“Green Avas it. Mrs. SaAvyer. Then it Avas no marv(‘l 
that the sun turned green or any other color, indeed.” 

“What Avere his last AAmrds, Deacon, Avhat were they 
impatiently inquired Mrs. SaAvyer, taking out her note 
book. 

“Dreadful, Mrs. SaAvyer, dreadful ! ‘The Major’s father 
and the Major’s grandfather died in this house and were 


16 


OLD AXTHO^- Y's .SECKET. 


buried on tlie mountain side, and it would be -ah-devilisli 
hard -ah- if the Major should be denied that privileged 
Those were liis very last words, Mrs. Sawyer.” 

‘•I knew the Major would say something remarkable,” 
said Mrs. Sawyer. 

“Remarkable? Dreadful! Mrs. Sawyer, lie just closed 
his eyes and folded his hands and died out ot hand with- 
out a shudder.” 

“So he went away peacefully. I always thought the 
Major would go away quietly. He was a very determined 
man and never made a fuss about anything.” 

“And it would’nt do him any good to make a fuss now, 
Mrs. Sawyer, when he is trying the dread realities. The 
Almanac, indeed I ” exclaimed the Deacon as he passed out. 

Mrs. Sawyer made a hasty note of the last words, and 
went in, the right person in the right place, being an un- 
dertaker’s wife, to arrange matters for the burial. When 
that was over and the time come to think about the per- 
petuation of the Major’s memory, the young gentleman 
of Adair very justly concluded that, if his forefathers had 
injected virtue and honor into the logs of the old cottage, 
an inexhaustable supply had been buried along with their 
bones, which ought not to be lost sight of — especially as 
those commodities seemed to be growing rarer and less 
sought after year by year. He therefore commissioned 
Mr. Sawyer to prepare three headstones for his several 
sires. Thereupon while Mr. Bartholomew Sawyer cudg- 
eled the rough slabs, Mrs. Bartholomew Sawyer cudgeled 
her brains to produce an appropriate ei)itaph for each, par- 
ticularly for that of the Major, and had the pleasure of 
presenting for the consideration of the young gentleman 
of Adair and his mother the following ; — 

“Both his sire and my father were born in Adair, 

And were brought to this mountain and laid side by side. 

It’s the custom to die. and t’were devilish unfair, 

If that privilege were to the Major denied.” 


OLD ANTHOXY S tjECKET. 


17 


She had been at iiilinitc pains, as intimated, to perfect an 
epitapti that would commend itself to the young gentle- 
man of Adair, and she flattered lierself that she had suc- 
ceeded ; since she had shown the most tender regard for 
the Major's last words and mode of expression, consistent 
with versilication, while she had no <loubtthat her tetram- 
eters were perfect. She is to be pardoned, therefore, if 
lier heart swelled a little with pride, and if she lilted her 
licad a little higher than its wont with vanity. The 
wisest of us all will do it on the heels of a great succe.-s. 
She handed it confidently and smilingly to the young gen- 
tleman of Adair, who received it not onlv graciously but 
with cerfunonioiis gallantry. lie took otf his hat, most 
respectfully, in Mr. Bartholomew Sawyer’s shop to Mr. 
Bartholomew Sawyei-’s wife, and received it. When ho 
received it he read it smilingly, and exclaimed: 
‘^Admirable I ” 

“Oh ! thank you, Nathaniel. I didn't think it deserved 
that expression.” — One of the white lies society forces 
people to tell in order to escape its verdict, that they think 
too much of themselves and their own performances. — 
The little woman did think it deseiwed his full measure 
of praise. 

‘^Just my father’s language, and very properly versified.” 
said Nathaniel. The little woman was in a flutter of 
delight. 

“One is hampered, Nathaniel, when one has only so 
many words to use. I did the best I could, and I’m sure 
I’m very glad if it i^leases you.” 

Then Nathaniel lifted Molly, her only child, up on the 
bench and kissed her, while slie toyed with liis hair; 
for the child worshiped the young gentleman of Adair 
who always exchanged candies for kisses. “Yes, Madam, 
you ought, perhaps, to attempt something at greater length, 
and in which you would be fancy free.” And then hum- 
med into Molly’s ear : — 


18 


OLD Anthony’s secukt. 


“Oh saw you the lass wi’ the boniiy blue een ? 

Her smile is the sweetest that ever was seen. 

Her cheek like the rose is. but fresher I ween. 

She’s the loveliest lassie, that trips on the green.” 

“I am fond of poetry, very, and your composition alinoKt 
tempts me to break mypromi.se to my father, but that you 
wouldn’t wish me to do, I know/’ 

“O, certainly not, Nathaniel,” said the little woman, and 
the color began to die out of Inn- cheek, and her heart II ut- 
t<;red more violently than ever, with a new emotion. 

‘die very explicitly declared, before he died, what 
should be placed on his tombstone. I3ut I am vejy grate- 
ful to you, Madam, for your thoughtfulness. If he had 
not indicted the words beforehand, your oflering would 
have been most acceptable.” 

The gentleman of Adair had delivered wliat he know 
would be a blow to the little woman’s feelings, with con- 
sideration. It had fallen as softly as the paw of a kit.Um 
with the nails sheathed, and she was not seriously 
hurt by it. 

“And what were the vvbrds he selected, Nathaniel?” 

“I have gone upon the mountain side to sh;ep with my 
fathers. May my vices be forgotten, and iny virtues alone 
reappear in the lives of those who will follow me.” Ati- 
swered Nathaniel. 

“And are oo goin now?” inquired Molly who held him 
fast about the neck. 

“Yes, I must be going now, my Lilly Blossom.*’ 

“Well, oo must turn adain soon. T’se lonesome Avisont 
oo,” said the Lilly Blossom. 

“Are you, Pet? Then ITl come again, just as soon as 1 
can.” He carried his Lilly Blossom to the front door and 
kissed her good-bye. 


OLD ANTHONY S SECRET. 


19 


CHAPTKU 111. 

THE HEART OF THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN OF ADAIR IS SERI- 
OUSLY AFFECTED. STRANGE YOUNG WOMAN IS ALICE 

HALFORD. HAMP TALKS NOT WELL BUT WISELY. 

On his way home from the house of Mr. Bartholomew 
Sawyer, Nathaniel Gautier met Miss Alice Balford. When 
he took off his hat to her, he felt his ears tingle and knew 
that his cheek was flushed. Miss Alice Balford, however, 
on the contrary was quite at her ease. Sln^ had been too 
well schooled in society ; her heart never fluttered ; her 
cheek never flushed, but she smiled divinely. 

‘^Lt gives me pleasure, Miss Balford, to meet you looking' 
80 well. Our Mountain air is surely doing you good ser- 
vice, which is a good exchange for having to endure our 
mountain manners: — 

•Upon yon heights, o’er many a fragrant heath, 

The loveliest breezes i)reathe. 

So free and pure the air 

God’s breath seems iloaiing there.’ ” 

‘•Your Mountain air is all you claim for it — God’s breath 
to me, indeed ; and I should be very fastidious to And fault 
with mountain manners in Mr. Gautier’s society,” And 
she shot a laughing glance out of her bright brown eye 
that went straight to the heart of Nath*aniel Gautier. 

“Ah, you flatter ; but to be honest, mine are the man- 
ners of your own Blue Grass Region, since there I learned 
them. No doubt they can be improved, but such of us as 
have not gone there for instruction, are sadly deficient.” 

^•Not in kindness of heart I am sure, nor in frankness.” 

“No, in the Blue Grass Region we run the risk of losing 
some of our mountain generosity and candor.” She 
laughed and threw an inquiring glance at him. 

“Do I seem to illustrate that fact to you ? ” 

“Yes, in one kind of generosity I am satisfied you aro 
not wanting. 


20 


OLD ANTHONY S SKCltiCT. 


“The world is but a word ; were it all yours to give it iu a breath, hovr 
quickly were it goue.’’ 

“But yoin* heart is like the stronof box of a miser, I never 
got a glimpse of its treasun*. That is iieitlier candid nor 
generous.” 

“Well, liow can 1 help it, Mr. Gautier? Tln^ key is lost 
and I douT know who is likely to find it. It may be your 
misfortune as well as that of any body else,” she answereii 
and looked up at him archly. Decidedly he felt that sh(‘ 
was amusing herself. 

“That is diplomatic, ndt frank.” lie said. “Yet t can 
not chooser but sedreh for it.” 

“VYiiat could T say more, Mr. Gautier? Y^ou, yourself, 
have observed my heart, that it is locked. You say you 
will search for the key, and I have not forbidden you to 
H(jarch. AVe have both been candid, and there is no nioiv; 
to be said.” lie couldiiT tell whether there Avas more of 
fondness or mischief in the glance that supplemented her 
speech. But he knew that it left him on that neutral 
ground on which he Avas adA^erse to stand. 

“Miss Alice,” he replied, “I can generally form a fair 
idea of Avhat a man means, when he says anything; but 
women — it must be that I am a fool, for I don’t under- 
stand them.” T!i(‘ fact he Avas unable to assure himself 
that the clcA^'er Alice meant a word she said. Had he be- 
lieA'cd her sincere, it would have been a satisfaction to 
knoAv, as tier Avords implied, that at least no one had fore- 
stalled him in her affections. 

“Ah, ISIr. Gautier, it is Avonderful, and you are such a 
master of the English language.. But see, here (‘omes 
your queer colored boy.” 

“Boy? Oh yes, old Tlamp, the only philosoplnu- Adair 
has produced. He’d amuse you, if he happens to be in the 
right humor. You aauU be the better of a rest on the 
croAvn of this ridge, anyway.” Alice permitted him to 
seat her on a massive rock by the road-side, where they 
awaited the old Negro’s approach. When he came near, 


OLD AXTIIOXy’s SEOliET. 


21 


iie took oir his tom felt hat, and exlii})ite(l tin? top of his 
head to the gentleinan of Adair and his coin])anion. It 
would have been <iuite impossible to have exhibited any 
other portion of his head, since in oriental style, it was 
wound lip in a red and white cotton scai-f. They saw a 
spot of while, kinked hair. Ilis whiskei's. too, were 
almost white: and when he opened his mouth, in a quiz- 
zical smile that always preceded his utterance, there was 
no disjilay of ivory, which the dark vortex once servial to 
relieve. 

“Goo<i eben, Miss, good eben, Marsh* (raiitier. Lawd 
bress yo cliile, de up hill businetf is gittin mighty hawd 
on ole Ifamp, it is faw sho,” 

“You ought to take it slow, Ilamp." 

“Sholy, my favrite, Tse boun to take it slow. You mind 
me, chilien, yo make it slow, wen you know yosc goin de 
wrong way ; eet ’cordin to Scripter.” 

“How, the wrong way, Ilamp?’’ inquired Alice. 

‘•lYy, dallin Hose Bud, it doan done need no circum- 
s])e(;tion to Tucidate, dat ole Ilainp got ober de mountain 
long ago, and bin goin down mocn five-thii’ds ob de way 
on (!(', Oder side. Iso bin on de decline plane moen fawty 
yeah. Cawn go up hill no mo; it de Avrong Avay.” 

“Certainly, your road does not run up hill.” said Ali(*e. 

“Look Avay down dar, Honey, neah de foot ob de moun- 
tain. Dars Avhar I am. It ain moen ten stojis at de fudest 
li-om do valley, Avhar Ise gAvain to res. Y'ouns ain moen 
jes staAvted ui>. It a heap easier, chilien, climbin up Avum 
yo young an spry, dim goin doAvn Aven yo ole an got de 
rheumatiz an de phthisic.” 

“And we are apt to count the lirst jiart of the journey 
the hardest." Said Nathaniel seriously. 

“Chilien, yo mind m(‘, and take it sIoav a comin up. 
Doan go to roustin roun id drinkin n’ dancin all night wif 
a Avhite muslin dress on ; none dat foolishneff. P’raps cet 
make yo ’])ear like an angel noAv, honey, but sholy yo feel 
like d<‘ berry deliil fo yo make de hull trip. Yah, yah, 


22 


OLD ANTHONY'S SKCRET. 


jah I Dat so. ’Scuse dat wild, Rosebud ; wen dey come ’gin 
do lips, dey iiaterly slip out fo 1 cotch eni, cause de teef 
all gone.” 

“Your excuse makes it all right, llanii),” and Alice 
laughed. 

“Well, Hamp, you have the rheuiiiatism in your boues” 
queried Nathaniel. 

“Bress yo soul. Honey, dat so, sho.” 

“And you’ve lost all your teeth ?” 

“'Cept jes a sprinklin ob de stumps, chile.” 

“And you are nearly (dghty 3 ears old, and your bones 
are brittle as wheat straws, and your eyes grow misty, 
and you are pretty badly used up generally?” 

“Now, yo got roun de circumlocution ob ole Ilamp’s in- 
flictions, sho, Honey.” 

“A 1x1 still you ajipear to be lolei-ably happy.” 

“W)', my favorite, specs 1 feel miserable and lonesome 
wifout de rheumatiz. It keep me company moen fawty 
yeah. J)e misery is in de limbs, cliillen, but de possum, 
hai)pinefl’, hide in de holler ob de trunk, right 3 'er, whar 
d<*. misery cawn get at him.” And Hamp placed his hand 
impressively on his breast. 

“Mr. Sawyer told me to-day, Hamp, that he intends, 
when 3 'ou lie down in the valley, to (n*ect a very line tomb- 
stone at the head of your grave.” 

“Jes so ; dats Yvot he tolo me, an it’ll be a berry great 
comfort to dis ole niggeh, sho. 1 tole him to jiick a dry 
spot’ count de rheumatiz. ilow much will dat tombstone 
be YY'utr, Honey?” 

“If its a fnie oix^ it ought to be worth tiventy dollars.” 

Wy, bress yo soul, my dallin cliile, ole Hamp drelful 
’bliged to Mars’r Sawyer ; but de fac am, I-I jes a leetle 
bit rayther gib dese ole bones tYventy' dollehs Yviiff comfort 
fo dey lies doYvn to res in de valley. De comfort dat 
comes arter dat is hidden history, chile, hidden history,” 

“You are right again, Hamp.” Said Alice. 


OLD AXTHONY S SKCREl'. 


23 


*^Wy bress yo soul, Sugar Plum, ob course I am. Wot 
will dey put on de tombstone, Mars’r Gautier ?” 

“Well, I don’t know exactly, llamp, something like this, 
pe.rhaps : — 


HERE LIES JOHN HAMPTON WHITE (COLORED). 
Died . Aged . 

lu the dark and silent night of the grave, 

White is black and bla(*k is white, .save in name. 
Deeds alone remain in light after him. 

Judged by these, he was white as his name. 


“Surely, Mr. (lauiitM-, you hav(.‘ a wonderful geniu.s for 
poetry. Had you never thought of that before, was it (juite 
impromptu ? ” 

‘•Impromptu doggerel. If tliat was jioetry, tlum it was 
a lucky hlundt'r. My poetry dies as soon as born, for the 
good reason that it is not lit to live.” 

“It must not die; it must be preserved for Hampton's 
tombstone.” And Alice took out her note book and re- 
corded it, before it faded from her memory, 

‘•lOet mighty pretty, shoh', chile, if it war only true. 
Ibudcon de Lawd doan done pay no 'tention to dem .scrip- 
lions, dev's mightv deceibin. Eet mighty qiiar, sartin, dev 
doan doiKi found out how good oh* Ham[) is to he die. 

‘•Ye.s, there is .something nmiarkable al>out that. By the 
way, do you think you could tind where my grandfather's 
grav(; is ? ” 

‘dlunno, ^lars r (rautim’. 1 war a (diile wen he gib up 
deconte.s, but i war at diHierryin. Reckon I kin, mebbe." 

‘•Well, vou shall try tomorrow, for 1 am going to .search 


for it. Here is a dollar to hel}) comfort your old bones.” 

‘‘Wy, Lawd bress yo soul, my faverite, yo make ole Ilamp. 
eb(‘rla.stin obleege, yo do, sholy. Gosh Amighty, dars a 
lieaj) c-omfort in a dolleh.” And Hamp arose, took off his 
hat, and treated the gentleman ot Adair to a number ot 
his oriental salaams. Good monin, Seh ! good monin. 
Rosebud! ^finn* gittin mighty .scase w id ole Hamp; Ise 


24 


OLD ANTHONY’S SECUET. 


boun to leab yo ; moniii, chillen I He moved oft‘ doww 
the mountain, and when midway he stopped to rest, struck 
the ground forcibly with his cane and muttered : — 

“Dars gwain to be trubble dere, Ise ’feared. Ise 'served 
de faverite’s eyes fo to-day, and I moiit tell him surntiu ef 
I dar. lie lookin upde tree faw de coon, an she lookiu up 
aiioder, I reckon.” Then old Hamp moved on. 


CllAPTEK IV. 

ANTHONY GRATER, THE MISER, Rol’.itERV, THE MYSTERIES 
OF A MOUNTAIN CAVERN. A MIRACLE, 

They are a very restful and contented people in the 
mountains; spendthrifts with little to spend save time, 
which is disposed of liberally, and freely mortgaged. They 
ai'e mortgages that Hope rarely pays otf, and are generally 
renewed from manhood to old age. lint there are excep- 
tions, and Anthony G-rater was an exception. 1 am at a 
loss to determine precisely what constituted Mr. Anthony 
Grater an exception. All are striving to become superior 
to the ills of life, to that end employing strength, talent 
and wealth, and when time has weakened the body ami 
enfeebled the mind, ohl age hangs on the more temudously 
to wealth, its only remaining weapon to carry on the con- 
h‘st .It may have been, therefore, because Anthony Grater 
was old. He was certainly weak physically, for his body 
yesterday \vas so bent that the line of the perpeiulicular 
from th('. crown of his luaid leli at least a foot forward Ix;- 
yond the exlrmnities of his toes. It was at that point he 
planted his cam!, which he held extended in his bony hand, 
and without which, in obedience to natural law, he must, 
it seemed, have fallen forward upon his face. He was 
thin, and sharp-featured, and his complexion was darker 
than parchment, ami quite as yellow. . Therefore it might 


t)Ll) ANTHOXV S SKCliK’r. 


25 


lijive been liis liver. 11 is stomach iu the concavity of the 
circle, seemed to b(5 too confined to perform its functions. 
'J'herefore, it mig'lit have been (lysp(;psia. There were 
straggling- gray hairs on tin; sides ai»d back of a very dimin- 
uli\ e l)aM In'.ad.and his nose formed tlui narrowest bridge 
imaginable bet ween his little black e)es. Therefore it 
might, liave been a lack of brains either in quantity or 
apportionment, .('('rtainly, there was some sutheient cause 
to rmnlcr Anthony (rratcr discmntcnletlly fearful and 
miserly. For tifleen years, at least, he had vva)rn the same 
old coat coming down below his knees. Anthony may 
hav(' ])nl a patch or two ui)on it In llie meantime ; that 
was ail the ap})areiit change it liad undergone. What was 
originally a to-vV crownetl silk beaver with a stout felt body, 
was of equal antiquity, ^voru, crushed and faded, but with 
considerable wear in it yet. 

lie bad lived in a little log hovel, built, it was said, over 
the moutli of one of the caves so numerous iu the cavern- 
ous limestouc of the mountains. lie Iiad made baskets 
ill the winter, and <-ultivatcd a rich garden spot at the foot 
of theclitf, lime out of mind, from which, as regularly as the 
seasons came round, he had furnished tln^ wealthier people 
of the hamlet with the very earliest vi'getahlCvS, of every 
description, for whie-h, time out of mind, lie had charged 
a high [irice. OKI imm said, that long years hefoj-e, he had 
bemi a gunsmitli, and could still poiut to the spot on whiclF 
his little shoj) had stood ; and that they liad known him 
when his bai.'k was straight, and he was quite a handsome 
man, but that year, after year it had become more and 
more curved with stoojiing over his vegetables. Nobody 
(•ould eertainly say what lie did with his money, for he 
was rarely known to spmid any, save for a little coliee and 
sugar occasionally, of \vhich he must have partaken very 
s{)aringly. The cave under his hovel, had come to be 
rather a tradition than a known fact, to the dwelhu-s iii the 
hamlet, sinei; Anthony never welcomed comyiany. The 
impi-i'.ssion prevailed, liowever, that he had a great deal of 


26 


OLD ANTHONY S SECRET. 


coin hidden in the cave. Some ten years before, a num- 
ix^r of boys had elfected an entrance into his hovel in his 
absence, and taken up some of the hewn boards that con- 
•titutcd the floor. They caught a glimpse of a dark liole, and 
overcome with a fear of ghosts or fairies, ran away. An- 
tliony on that occasion manifested great diligence and ^as 
tiiteness in ferreting out the malefactors ; but when he found 
they were boys of the village, said nothing further about 
it. However, now something more serious had happened, 
A company of masked men, probably from a distance, 
who had heard of Anthony’s reputed hoard, had assem- 
bled quietly about his cabin near midnight, intent upon 
robbing him. Knowing that whatever treasure he pos- 
sessed would be safely hidden, they were anxious to se- 
cure his person, and compel him to reveal its whereabouts. 
But there came, as it were, a voice into his ear, saying : 
“Get up, Anthony, get up !” and the almost sleepless old man 
heard the feet of their horses, as they filed along the path 
on the mouihain side above him. It was an unusal thing, 
so many coming by an unfrequented path ; and living 
in continual dread, his suspicions were easily aroused. 
There was the echo of the voice in his ear still. “Get uj), 
Anthony, get up!” He Avas scarce awake. He arose, 
c.lothed himself in baste, and took from beneath the crude 
framework of his couch, Avhere he kept it hidden from 
•ight and convenient, a dark lantern, or bull’s eye. In the 
•tillness of the night, he could hear their stealthy footfalls 
and whispers, as they approached. He felt, with trem- 
bling ling(*rs, in his ])ocket, to make sure that he had 
snatches. He knew that his treasure was secure, if he 
were only safe himself. Through the chinks of the hovel 
a light could be seeu, and he, therefore, dare not strike a 
match ; but seizing his staff in the darkness, he got upon 
his hands and knees, and crawled over the floor until he 
reached a spot where he began to feel carefully after some 
peculiarities in the boards. In his terror the sense of feel- 
ing almost deserted him, and life and death hung upon 


OLD ANTHONY S SKCRICT. 


27 

his finger tips. Time ami again, tliey passed over tin* 
crevices of which he was in search unnoticed. Moments 
seennul hours, and when despair had well nigh overconn; 
him, his long fingers glided into the crevices at last, ami 
he heard their whispered consultation at tlie door as he 
quietly raised the trap, and clanilxn’cd onto the top rungs 
of a ladder, lie heard one of them knock at the; door ami 
call, ‘‘Anthony I ” as he eased the traj) down with head and 
hand. Palsied with fear, his body trembled so that he 
fear(*d he might lose his footing on tln^ ladder, and fall to 
the bottom. TIis hand shook with tin; lantern in it, and In* 
was in horrible dread lest his hold upon its handle might 
n*Iax, and allow it to be shattered on the rocks b(;low or 
be emptieal of its oil before he could lind it. lie drop])ed 
his staff as useless until he should reach tin; bottom, and 
it fell with a resounding clatter among ihe rocks. ib^ 
p;ared it might be heard by those who were now pound- 
ing at the door to eflect an entrance*, lie gra>])(‘d the la<i- 
der with om; arm, and it took a monnmt or two for his 
•baking fing(;rs to lind his i)ocket ce)ntaining the matches. 
When he had drawn one forth, his nerv(*s secjin'd to 
persist in the etfort to unclose tlng(;r and thumb and let it 
drop. He drew it s(;veral tilings along the breast of his coat 
before he could g(‘t it to light, and then remembered that 
the lantern held in the left hand, with whi(;h In; was also 
clinging to the ladder, was clos(*d. lh;fore he could st(;ady 
his arm sufficiently and command his muscles to open it. 
the match had gone out. He Inaird a heavy thud followt'd 
by a crash, and he knew that the fastening of his door had 
given way, and the robbers were on the floor above his 
head. He felt the beginning of despair that has steadied 
the nerves of many a timid man, and his fingers went 
itraight to his pocket and drew forth a match. With one 
■troke it was aflame, and the next instant the light from 
his lantern reflected for a moment upon his face. It was 
horrible to look upon. Every mnside twitched and worked 
gpasmodically, and gave, oc.casionally, glimpses of the 


OJ.l) ANTHONY S SK.i'KKT. 


/ 


2S 


wolliisli fangs that alone Inid defied time. Ilis laee was 
ghastly pal(j, and his biaek eyes looked tierce yet tull of 
terror as they turned iipwai-d, in his dread of the trap door 
opening above him. When he reached the bottom, he 
could hear them tramping over the llooi’. With desperate 
energy the old man laid hold of the ladder — it was, crudely 
made of oak and lu'avy— in order to take it down if possi- 
ble. He bethought him of the noise he might make in 
moving the upper end. If it should strike against the 
floor or come in contact with a sleeper, it would tell them 
at once of his whereabouts. It was necessary to grasp it 
as high as he could reach. For one so old and bent the 
task was herculean ; but what will not a man attempt un- 
der the iulluence of great terror. Under the all jiotent 
impulse of his mental motions, the bowed back straight- 
ened as lie reaclu'd upward — he felt a giving way of his 
whole organism, a dreadful sensation, as if soul and body 
had been torn asunder, and he fell forward upon the lad- 
der. But it was over in a moment, and terror resumed its 
sway. Jlis ner^a'S were tortured to their highest pitch con- 
sistent with sanity, and his muscles strung to their high- 
est tension. He seized the ladder high up and lifting it 
from its position brought it safely down. When he had 
carried it a little way into the cavern and laid it upon the 
rocks, he stood with his lantern in his hand and breathed 
more freely. lie put out his hand involuntarily, as was 
his wont when Avuilking with his staff, but there was no 
stafi" in it and then ho realizi'd, for the first, that the con- 
tracted muscles, in a moment of intense emotion, had re- 
laxed, and he stood u])right. It Avas a moment of intense 
joy for the old man, but only momentary for he heard a 
voice above, saying : — 

**IIere is the trap, prize up the floor.’- 
They had discovered the locality of the trap by sound- 
ing the boards, Avhich resounded above the opening to the 
cavern. Cured, as by a miracle, it seemed to him, life Avas 
worth even more to the old man than it had been fhu* 


minutes before. He hastened away, as the trap lifted 
and their voices sounded distinctly. Me supposed they 
had come prepared to search, and that jie u ould soon see 
the liglit of their lamps behind him. He had the advan- 
tage in being familiar with the cavern. Time, and time 
again, during fifty years, he liad traced ali its avenues. 
Yet ill his right hand he held his life— his lantern. He 
estimated Ids treasure well nigh at the value of his life; 
hut wlien far in among the winding avenues of the cav- 
ern, the oil in his lamp was more valuable than his treas- 
ure; it was life itself, since without it, no man might hope 
to grope his way out among the tortuous rocks, where 
reign eternal gloom and everlasting silence, save when the 
former is dispelled for a moment by the torch, the latter 
by the echoing footfall of the explore)'. The only sound 
that greets the ear is when, in some moist chamber, the 
water drops, reflecting like diamonds the light of his lamp, 
gather upon the points of stalactites and fail, trickling into 
a crystal pool on the floor; and these hut sei've to render 
the silence more profound. Lost in the midst of a moun- 
tain cavern the unhappy mortal is persistently deceived 
by his poor sense of touch. Every jutting angle gives 
new direction to his feet, and turn him back and tbrth 
upon his course. Lost, lost! He can form no conception 
of which way safety lies, even if he were able to })ursue 
it; but dangers are everywhere thick about him. Even 
in that moment he stops to think, he Jiiay be standing on 
the edge of a precipice, or when his foot falls below the 
general level, he is by no means sure that it will find rest- 
ing place save with his mangled body at the bottom of 
some pit whose scarcely fathomable depth is guessed at. 
Hope dies out of his breast in an hour, and he has been 
known to lie down and die within fifty yards of the cav- 
erifs mouth. Old Anthony hastened forward. There 
seemed to be a new energy instilled into his old limbs^ 
as he moved, muttering to himself at intervals. The look 
of terror had departed from his face, giving place to the 


30 


OLD Anthony’s secukt. 


more revolting expression of vindictiveness. lie grinned 
hideously. Ills eyes, embedded in their deep hollows, 
glowed like those of a wolf in the darkness, and his grat- 
ing gutturals, as he muttered to himself, half smothered 
in his breast, appeared to come from beneath the rocks over 
which he walked swiftly. He stopped at the end of a long, 
straight chamber where tlie cave divided into two avenues, 
and took breath. He turned the stream of rellected light 
from his lantern down the avenue that led straight for- 
ward, until it glimmered in the distance among the white 
stalagmites of a chamber which it partially lighted, ami 
to winch it gave the appearance of a ruined temple, with 
its shrines and columns and broken architraves, and capi- 
tals scattered about. VV^hile he h<!ld it steadily in posi- 
tion, he looked back in the direction from w hich he ex- 
piicted his pursuers, lie had over estimated their niim- 
b(*r. They were four in all. due was left without in 
charge of their horses, and another nmiained at the trap 
door down Avhich he had lowered the others with a rope. 
These two had discovered the ladder and knew that old 
Anthony was within the cavern, wdiere, as they supposed, 
he could not escape them. They had hastily lighted and 
fastened upon their foreheads such lamps as are used and 
thus worn by miners. He stood steadily reflecting his 
light into the chamber mentioned as lying straight before 
them. Presently one of them looked up and saw it. He 
seemed startled by the ghastlyforms at first, and stopped 
to call the attention of his companion to them. 

“They're white pillars, you fool, and that's the old feller’s 
light ahead of us, — wefll git him sure.” 

Then Anthony suddenly shut olT his light and turning 
the angle, threw it ahead of him as he hastened along the 
avenue to the left. This was serpentine and when a short 
distance within, the entrance became hidden by the curve 
in the wall. Anthony darkened his lant(;rn and waited in 
the gloom once more to determine the direction they might 


UL1> ANTMOAVS SKCKKT. 


31 


take, lie saw" their lamps as they came opposite the ox)eo- 
iii<? aud stopped to consider their course. 

‘‘I say, Xath, here’s a branch, perhaps he's gone up this ?’* 

•‘Saw his light farther on, 1 reckon ; but perhaps one had 
better fuller one and the other the other.” 

“We’ll keep on, Natli,” said the first who had no mind to 
explore alone — “reckon yor right.” 

“It will be best for you to keep on. I say it will be bestl’» 
muttered Anthony, and shook his lamp to make sure that it 
vv"as well supplied with oil. Then he felt after his matches 
eagerly to assure himself that they were all riglit. 

“They will have a long w^alk and oil is costly. I say 
oil is costly, yes, yes.” 

lie, thereupon, blew" out his lantern to economize 
it. They had a long way to travel before they reached the 
end of the avenue, nearly a mile. Years afterward I ex- 
plored the cave myself in company wfith others, and I 
know a mile through one of these mammotli caves is a very 
long w"ay. There are long level halls, but tlnu-e are also 
great hills of boulders, that have fallen from the roof above, 
on whose summit from the deep abrupt valley, the explorer 
ofttimes appears no larger than a child with a glow worm 
in his hand. Then, perchance, within thirty yards this 
vast cavern whose roof is too far above to reflect the light 
of the lamps, contracts into a narrow tunnel no larger in 
proportion than the neck of a jug to its body, and he must 
crouch down to pass through. Moreover, he must protect 
his lamp from the wind, that entering at far distant and 
undiscoverable vents, sucks through these narrow" passages. 
He must guard both lamp and face from the black bats 
that in legions fly through these abodes of silence, and 
viciously attack the light that invades their native gloom. 
The air currents are their guides, and where these prevail, 
they are ever on the wing. Thus guided they will find 
their way into these subterranean abodes, through narrow 
c.revices by wdiich man could never enter or hope to escape. 
But they have their local habitations, and appropriate cer- 


32 


OLD ANTHON'Y’s SECRK/r. 


tain chambers where tliey may bo found innumerable, 
hanging from every part of the roof like bees in swarms. 

I say a mile is a very great distance up and down the 
rocky stairways and tiirough the halls and chambers of a 
mountain cave; and the men with theii lamps on tlicii 
foreheads, closely observant as they moved, lest their prey 
should escape them, or they themselves should topple off 
into some yawning pit, had expended two hours in vain 
search before they returned to the point where the avenues 
separated. Meanwhile, in uttei gloom, with every sense 
alert, his open lantern in one hand and a match in the 
other, old Anthony had waited, watched and listened, like 
a malevolent demon of the place, shaping the destiny of 
the two men who had intruded upon his ancient domain. 
When the first faint glimmer of light from their lamps 
evidenced their r(durn, Ikj stepped hastily to the oppo- 
site side of the cavern, relighted his lantern, and huiiied 
on to the next abrupt turn of tlu^ avenue, lie stopped 
again and grinned, and muttered . 

“If you follow m(‘, your blood be on your own heads. 

1 say your blood be on your own heads. 

Peering around tin; angle with his dark lantern behind 
him, again he watched and waited. They were mountain 
men of sinewy frames upon his trail, whose muscles had 
been hardened by climbing declivities, and they had been 
in the bowels of the mountains before. They did not stop 
for an instant, but quickened their steps as they entered 
the mouth of the serpentine avenue. When Anthony per- 
ceived the reaection of their light he turned and ran upon 
the smooth, soft, velvet covered door of the cavern for 
•orne .listance, and suddenly disappeared in a narrow open- 
ing on the right. When he had followed its rugged and 
tortuous course for some distance, he was well nigh over- 
come with exertion and slackened his speed. He wheezed 
like a broken winded horse, but checked his breath at in- 
tei-vals to mutter: — 

“My back is straight once more, thank God ! I say 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


33 


thank God ! hut my breath is scant. I say I am not well 
of the plithisic.” 

Thougii tliey might not enter the narrow opening at once, 
Anthony knew it would not be long before his pursuers 
would follow him, for the larger avenue from which it 
branched, ended abruptly a little farther on. When they 
had discovered it they would immediately return. An- 
thony stopped no more, but pressed vigorously forward. 
The chambers enlarged as he proceeded, until he came to 
a rugged hill. He had ascended it often, and knew the 
easiest route among the massive boulders, for beyond and 
still above its summit was hidden his treasure, lie would 
be there to guard it. When the summit of the hill was 
reached, a wide chamber stretched away As the rays 
from his lantern reflected within and dimly lighted it up, 
the most imaginative Greek could scarce picture anymph- 
ian sea- washed grotto more beautiful. Its high ceiling 
was supported by pillars of alabaster whiteness. Here 
and there could be dimly seen white forms in flowing 
drapery,, and everywhere the walls were huiig with tapes- 
try from which appeared in bas-relief innumerable clus- 
ters of grapes, and strange and grotesque forms, which, 
as the light shifted, waved back and forth, while the fig- 
ures seemed to glide about among the shadows, and give 
momentary glimpses of their white arms and wings in 
the gloom. Moisture pervaded the chamber, and hung 
suspended in drops from every grape, besprinkled the 
• ceiling, and gilded every statue and pillar, so that when 
Ills lantern turned upon it, it seemed revealed in its own 
inherent light a diamond-garnished palace. As he stood 
before it for a moment, no one with the dullest imagina- 
tion could fail to recognize old Anthony as the demon by 
whose enchantment it had been called into existence ; for 
on the next instant when he had turned his Aladin lamp 
the beautiful vision had vanished in the prevailing gloom. 
But behveen where the old man stood and this talc spar 
paradise, was a great gulf, not wide, perhaps ten feet, but 


34 


OLD AMIIONY’s SECKET. 


in depth, ah I The water drops that fell from the roof 
Avent down, down, and you waited some moments before 
there came up from its depths — a tong like tlie sound of a 
distant bell. However, there did not appear to be a gulf 
before him, but one would uaturally wonder Avhy a ladder 
Avith a board upon it stretched from one rock to anot her, 
when all appeared solid and safe beneath it. Old Anthony 
Avalked on the board, and when he had reached the farthei* 
end, he drew the board off the ladder and thrust it out of 
sight among the rocks. Then he took hold of a rope 
attached to a rung of the ladder at the farther extremity 
and clambering onto a higher elevation, raised it from the 
farther side tOAvard the perpendicular when he SAVung it 
*arouud against the side of the cavern. On looking uj)- 
Avard you perceived that its top Avas even with a ledge. 
Avhich formed the floor of a small avenue some twelve 
feet above the other, and leading oft* at right angles to it. 
It Avas, hoAvever, for some distance only a Avide ledge,- from 
which could be seen the crevasse extending far above and 
yaAvningfor an unfathomable depth below. It cut across 
the loAver aA’^enue, and formed the gulf over Avhich the lad- 
der and board had lain. Up onto this ledge old Anthony 
climbed and drcAv the ladder after him. The light of their 
lamps revealed him to them in the act. They greeted the 
sight of their intended victim with a yell that echoed far 
along the cavern. 

‘‘Your blood be on your oaaui heads ! ” shouted Anthony, 
as his pursuers by a common impulse stepped forAvard at 
the same instant. “Great God ! ’’ exclaimed one. It Avas 
answered by a shriek of mortal terror from the other. 
Their arms were tossed wildly u])Avard as they disap- 
peared together doAvn the fearful chasm. Presently, a dull 
ikudl came upAvard to greet the ears of old Anthony as he 
sat on the ledge. 

“Their friends will Avait a long time. I say they’ll wait 
a long time before they come !” Then he lowered his lad- 


OLD ANTHONY S SECKET. 


35 


der in great haste, and as he clambered down he mut- 
tered again : — 

“They may all come to look after their friends. I say to 
look after their comrades.” He supposed them to be more 
numerous than they were. The trap by which the two 
men had been dropped into the chasm, had been ingeni- 
ously constructed by the old man. Close against the right 
hand wall of the cave and across the chasm he had laid the 
smooth body of a hickory tree, about six inches in diame- 
ter, and securely fastened with and hidden beneath boul- 
ders, Its ends. To this, by two bands of heavy hoop iron, 
so that it could swing back and forth, he fastened a light 
platform adapted in shape to the mouth of the pit. The 
farther end of the platform was upheld by a rope running 
over a pulley and attached to a rock hanging suspended in 
the pit. The rock was heavy enough to uphold sufficient 
earth to cover the platform and hide the crack so as to give 
it the appearance of solidity. When the death trap fell 
under the weight of the two. men, they were followed by 
almost sufficient earth to bury them ; while the platform 
relieved of its load, instantly resumed its horizontal posi- 
tion. But the light boards of which its framework was 
covered were revealed, and they were these that Anthony 
was in such haste to cover again with dirt. From a hid- 
den nook he took an old shovel, and hurriedly tossed on 
sufficient from an ochre bed near, to nearly balance the 
weight of the rock below. When he had made it appear 
solid and safe once more, he threw a few shovelfuls into 
the chasm. 

“You shall have burial. I say you shall have burial bye 
and bye, with rocks, when I have time, so deep the noise 
of Gabriel’s trumpet won’t reach you. 1 say it won’t 
reach you ! ” 

Anthony clambered up again, and drawing the lad- 
der after him once more, unearthed his treasure. He 
handled it with difficulty — it was heavy. VYhen opened 
it seemed to be quite full of gold and silver coin, whicli. 


36 


OLD ANTHONY S SECKET. 


as determined by their value, had their several compart- 
ments, while one was left empty evidently with a view to 
facilitate the counting of the contents of the others. An- 
thon>- laid him down by the side of his treasure and began 
to count it off piece by piece into the empty compartment. 
The silver bore a small proportion to the gold. He told it 
off rapidly, but carefully, while a glow of ineffable delight 
overspread his features. It consisted mainly of American 
and Mexican dollars ; and now and then he would stop with 
one in his fingers and examine it closely. 

“My eyes are not so strong. I’m not sure if its good. 
I say I’m not sure.” And then he would toss it in among 
the others and proceed with the count. 

“Its right, all right. I say its all right,” he said when 
he had gone through with the silver and began to return 
it by handfuls into its proper division. But when his 
fingers touched the glittering gold, intense joy pervaded 
his entire body like an electric current, and .made every 
nerve tingle. He thrust his fingers again and again in 
among the diminutive dollars, and taking up some scores 
of them at a time, let them stream tinkling down. It was 
divinest music to the old man’s ear. He lingered in trans- 
port over them — toyed with them. Loth to enter upon 
the fulness of enjoyment, that , would end too soon, he 
would steal as much as possible in the way of anticipation. 
But, finally, as he thought of his precious time, he began 
the delightful task, for the thousandth time, of determin- 
ing their exact numbers. If was a work of unbroken 
delight counting the numbers of each, and listening to its 
chink, when it fell, save when he would take a larger 
coin in his hand and weight it carefully, a shade of 
anxiety would pass over his features, and he would 
mutter : — 

“I am more and more of the opinion that it is light, and 
there will be a loss. I say there will be a loss.” But his 
enjoyment came to an end, when some two hours had 
elapsed, and he arose and put his treasure away. 


OLD Anthony's secret. 


37 


“It must be daylight by this. I say it must be light, and 
they have gone.” 

He therefore readjusted his ladder and board over the 
chasm, recrossed, and pursued his way leisurely out. 
When he came to the opening beneath his hovel, he list- 
ened intently, but no sound came to his ears. Then he 
ventured to look up. The trap door was still raised, and 
through it he perceived that daylight had just begun to 
make its contents visible. It came through the open door 
he knew, else there had been no place for it to enter, for 
there were stout board shutters on the only window. As 
he adjusted his ladder to its place, his eyes fell upon his 
staff, lying where it had fallen, and he thought joyously of 
his back that had become so suddenly straight again, and 
of his ability to withstand the tendency which he still felt 
to stoo}) forward. 

‘•Its an ill wind that blows nobody any good. I say that 
blows nobody any good.” lie picked up his staff and 
went up the ladder. But he stopped and peered and list- 
ened, when his head was even with the floor, until satis- 
lied that the remainder of the band had gone. He walked 
quickly over the floor, and looked out of the door. He 
was satisfied. They were gone indeed, fearful that day- 
light might discover them to the people of the hamlet. 
When they had waited for a couple of hours, they had de- 
bated the question whether one of them ought not to go 
in search of their comrades ; but they could not doubt the 
abiliiy of the one called Nath, to explore the cavern and 
return safely. They had finally reached the conclusion 
that they had discovered another way of egress from the 
one by which they hatl gone out, and that they should find 
them awaiting their coming somewhere upon the moun- 
tain path. Afterwards when they discovered that old 
Anthony was still alive, and no intimation ever went 
abroad of his robbery, the aflair was shrouded in mystery, 
Either they had robbed him, appropriated all the spoils, 
and left the country, or perished in the cave. 


38 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE HALFORDS. A COTERIE OF FRIENDS AT THE PICNIC. 

JEALOUSY, AND PISTOL PRACTICE. 

The Balfords were of good stock, that is to say, they 
were of old stock wliich is the same tiling. It may be 
suggested that in that regard we all resemble the Balfords, 
and are of old stock. But there is this distinction between 
some of us and the Balfords, a very important one in 
some parts of our Reimblic ; we are unable to trace our 
pedigrees, and to be of ancient stock is of no importance 
whatever if it can not be traced. I know there are some 
Avho are disposed to speak sarcastically of family names 
and pedigrees, because they have none of their own, and 
are accustomed to console themselves with maxims that 
their own condition suggests, such as : ‘‘Happy the man 
who has no ancestry to disgrace him, or be disgraced by 
him.” Such are, of course, too prejudiced to admit the 
truth of the converse maxim : “Unhappy the man who 
has no ancestry to honor him, or be honored by him.” For 
myself, 1 aiu satisfied, that a pedigree is not to be despised, 
since it may be of emminent utility to people of weak 
bi'ains and weaker morals, who when self respect proves 
too frail a stall* for their sup]iort, respect for a family name 
may be strong enough to sustain them upright ; or who un- 
able to evolve an ideal cliaracter out of their own imagin- 
ings, can, without any effort whatever, supply themselves 
witli a model from among their ancestry. I seem to have 
noticed with regret, however, that the disposition is some- 
what stronger generally, to imitate their idiosyncrasies and 
follies rather than their virtues, in order that the world 
may the more readily be able to recognize them as “chips 
off the old block.” The Balfords, I say, had a pedigree. 
Their ancestors came from Virginia. True, they were 
poor and unlettered when they came. Had they not been, 


OLD ANTHONY'S SECRET. 


39 


they would probably have remained in Virginia. But 
that they were virtuous and honorable, their descendants 
were very willing to believe ; and that they were brave 
could scarcely be doubted, since otherwise they would 
liardly have ventured to be among the pioneers of the 
wilderness, and slayers of Indians. For the very sufficient 
reason that the personal history of none of them had been 
saved from oblivion, Alice and Tom could pitch upon no 
one of them as a model, eyen had they been weak enough 
to need one. But there were certain broad chivalric prin- 
ciples with which their ancestry were supposed to have 
mysteriously clothed the Balford name, and in these habil- 
iments, whether in other regards he were honorable or dis- 
Iionorable, it was the duty of every Balford to appear. 
Thomas Balford is an extraordinary man. He is nearly 
forty years of age, somewhat above the medium height. 
He has a massive head covered with dark brown hair, 
well set upon broad shoulders, and supported by a muscu- 
lar form. His hands you notice are symmetrical and mus- 
cular, and his feet are neither so large as to seem awkward, 
nor so small as to appear diminutive. His face has a 
lieavy appearance, and there is an unchanging dull look in 
his eyes that are small and of a bluish-gray color. Even 
when raised to look upward they do not appear to be wide 
open, and the line of his mouth droops at the corners. 
You are not satisfied with one look at his face, since you 
have not made up an opinion ; there is a conflict of impres- 
sion. Again you look, and arc less satisfied than ever. 
He seems sad and sympathetic; he seems stern and cruel. 
You can not reconcile the contradiction; it remains to be 
seen what you will do with his character. He and Alice 
were standing under the magnolia trees, mere lookers on 
at the picnic frolic. Feasting is first in order at a picnic, 
and Minnie Brock, leaning upon the arm of John Elcott, 
had approached the Balfords and invited them to be of their 
party at a dinner provided by Mrs. Elcott. Judge Ernest 
Free Avas among her guests who, with a few others, made 


40 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


up as select a coterie as the hamlet could furnish. The 
Judge was a little man ; an old man in his sixties, with fine 
silver-white hair, and a little bald on the top of his head, 
lie was nervous, active, energetic and impulsive, hot and 
cold in an instant. Even the sentence of indignant denun- 
ciation, that began with an oath and severe contraction 
of brow and lip, would end in a laugh that extracted all 
its venom, and half healed the wound he had made. He 
had read much outside of his profession, and was fond of 
controversy. He w^as a batchelor, and called all the young 
ladies who grew up about him in the hamlet daughters. 
Notwithstanding he held most ultra views in some regards, 
and swore sometimes a little, and when in the imperative, 
mood, sometimes a great deal, there was no one in the 
country so well spoken of, and so universally beloved as 
the Judge. John Elcott was the handsomest man in the 
county, tall, symmetrical, graceful, black haired, black 
eyed, laughter loving, yet proud and passionate, and his 
mother fondly called him her mountain king. 

When these, with the others whose acquaintance it is not 
necessary to make, gathered about the white table cloth 
with its superimposed dainties spread out upon the grass^ 
the Judge looked down discontentedly upon the viands 
while he debated in his mind whether he should assume a 
posture after the manner of the Romans or Turks. The 
Judge scanned the spread very deliberately and remarked : 

‘‘Elcott your mother is an excellent cook.” 

“Thank you, on mother’s account,” said his former pupil 
laughingly. 

“If she only knew what to cook,” concluded the Judge 
gravely, and a smile passed around the table. “Here, 
daughter, you will want some of this cake. I can only 
guess at its composition. Equal parts of lard, flour and 
sugar, I reckon ; enough to kill you in large doses, but 
whom the gods love die young anyway. Take some,” he 
said to Alice. 

“Thank you, sir, I am less fortunate than the ox, which 


OLD ANTHONY S SECRET. 


41 


had your sympathy awhile ago. You would kill me with- 
out compunction. For this reason, perhaps, I ought not to 
permit myself to be counted among your daughters ; more- 
over, [ hoar you sometimes swear at us.” Alice looked 
signilicantly at Mr. Elcott. This was her first meeting 
with the Judge ; she and Elcott had, therefore, been talking 
about him. 

“That’s one of Elcott’s blank slanders. Miss. Because 
I swear occasionally at his follies, he will have it that I 
swear at every body. I am particularly guarded against 
swearing in the presence of women and children.” 

“Oh, what ctFroutery, sir, and you swore just now,” said 
Minnie Brock, who turned her laughing blue eyes on the 
Judge, and drew down her brows in mock severity. 

“I donT want, daughter, to dispute your word ; but I 
am confident, h ank confident, I say. that I did’nt swear.” 
It was apparent the Judge was not aware that he had used 
his customary word of emphasis. “Besides if I did. Dea- 
con Herder is responsible,” he concluded. 

“Oh, Judge, ain’t you ashamed! Deacon Herder is the 
last man in the world on whom you could throw such a 
I’espousibility as that,” said Mrs. Elcott. 

“But, Madam, he came into my office a long time ago^ 
with his Bible in his hand and bored me for half an hour 
with his views on baptism, and wound up by asking me 
if I didn’t consider it necessary to salvation? I told him 
no, and he then told me I would have to believe it or be 
damiK'd, and I told him I’d be damned if I would. I’ve 
had to listen to his views on the creation of the world, the 
origin and destiny of man, baptism, repentance, faith, the 
Second Advent, the New Jerusalem, the location of heaven, 
and hell, the divine nature and the characteristics of the 
devil, until, by the Everlasting, Madam, I was compelled 
to pay him this comi)liment. I told him his description 
of his Satanic majesty was so wonderfully vivid, that they 
must have had a long acquaintance, for Beelzebub himself 
couldn’t have given a better one, ha, ha, yes, I told him so.” 


42 


OLD Anthony's secret. 


^‘From which it is to be inferred that you and the Dea- 
con are not on the most friendly terms, Judge/’ said Alice. 

‘‘Nothing of the kind, daughter. The Deacon is a good 
sort of a man, hut his commission to convert all the world 
to his way of thinking ought to be revoked or he’ll go 
crazy, ha, lia, yes. He tights shy of me, though, now, for 
I give liim a broadside every time he comes. lie had the 
impudence once to call me an infidel and by 6/a«A*, Madam, 
I don’t allow anybody to call me an infidel, no ! ” The 
Judge arose quickly to his feet — his reclining posture seri- 
ously incommoded gesticulation — his brows contracted, his 
lips were compressed and white, and his large black eyes 
seemed to emit sparks that the night would have made 
apparent. “I looked him straight in the eye. Deacon, 
said I, have you a gift of phrophecy ? He said he hadn’t 
Can you speak in unknown tongues ? No. Can you heal 
the sick by laying your hands on them ? No. Well, I can. 
They are gifts that follow those that believe, and by blanks 
sir, you are an infidel yourself, a blank infidel, everlast- 
ingly damned, sir! Yes, ha, ha, T told him so. 

“And you say you are able to lay your hands on the sick 
and make them well ? ” inquired Alice. 

“Yes, and I see, daughter, I shall have you among my 
list of patients if you don’t restrain your appetite for 
that mince pie, ha, ha, yes,” replied the Judge sitting 
laughingly down into his reclining posture. 

“But, sir, yon have sworn ever so many times, and I 
don’t wonder. Deacon Herder is afraid- of you,” said Min- 
nie Brock. 

“I reckon not, daughter,” replied the Judge, evidently 
not sure if he might not have forgotten himself. 

“And you havn’t eaten a morsel,” said Mrs. Elcott. 

The eyes of the Judge wandered over the spread once 
^^|re. Mrs. Elcott, I’ll thank you for some beans that 
have no salt in them and have been boiled without pork,” 
he said. 

Well, I declare, I’ve left them in the basket. I forgot to 


OLD ANTHONY'S SECllET. 


43 


put them on. I cooked them expressly for you, hut a pig 
wouldhit eat them,” said the matron. 

‘‘And by blank, Madam, a pig will eat everything else 
you have on the cloth. My stomach ain't like a pigs.’^ 
Thereupon a smile went round the circle again. 

“You are always denouncing my cooking,” said Mrs. 
Elcott. 

“Youh'e mistaken. Madam, these beans are very well 
done.” 

“Oh, thank you, I’m not ambitious for a reputation as a 
good boiler of beans.” 

“Would’nt liave — so much sin to answer for if you 
were,-’ replied the Judge between If’s mouthfuls. 

“What is your argument, sir, against animal food?” in- 
quired Mr. Balford. 

“Murder,” said the Judge sententiously. 

“Do you see any connection between sliced beef and 
murder, Mr. Elcott? Permit me to help you to a piece,” 
said Alice. Her eyes looked full into those- of Mr. Elcott 
most bewitchingly. I have said she smiled most divinely. 

“The most vicious animals live on flesh exclusively. 
He'll eat all you give him, I daresay,” said the Judge. 

“See, now, Miss Balford, how I’m made to suffer for your 
sin.” 

“And you have so many of your own, its too bad, said 
Alice.” 

“First, the killing of the ox was rank murder, then its 
flesh is a stimulant which creates an appetite for a 
stronger stimulant — whisky, which stimulates to deeds of 
violence and murder. Half the murders can be traced to 
beefsteak and bacon,” said the Judge. 

“I perceive they are preparing for the tournament,” said 
Mr. Elcott as the company arose from their meal. “I sus- 
pect Miss Minnie will be quite willing to ‘swap’ me off, as 
the yankees say. Mr. Balford, since I have exhausted all 
my smartness, provided Miss Alice is willing to efi’ect an 
exchange.” 


44 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


“And IVIiss Brock does not seriously object to a bad bar- 
gain/’ said Mr. Balford, bowing courteously'to Miss Min- 
nie, “for my sister ” 

“Has become a heavy burthen to you, brother,” said 
Alice quickly. 

“Has become tired trying to stimulate my dullness and 
amuse me,” concluded Mr. Balford. 

“Then, emotionally, you must be as obdurate as a rock, 
sir. Common sunshine will play upon you to no purpose ; 
it will require furnace heat to reach your heart,” said Min- 
nie Brock. Mr. Balford turned a look of inquiry upon 
her suddenly. He wondered if it were badinage, or if 
this were indeed the giH’s first impression of him. She 
had been looking at him. Perhaps she had noticed that 
although his face had often assumed a look of amiability, 
the drooping curve of his mouth was never disturbed by a 
smile, and his eyes rarely brightened. 

“When one carries a furnace within. Miss, it is perhaps 
best that he preserve a cold exterior.” 

“And is ^tna accustomed to grumble and give notice 
before it emits its tide of lava, so that one can get out of 
the way?” and Minnie drew away from him in mock 
terror. 

“Don’t be alarmed. Miss Brock, the commotion is inter- 
nal and has no outlet.” 

“Ah, yet one is never certain, Mr. Balford, but that it 
may break forth sometime, and dread anticipation is worse 
than the reality.” 

“You persist in placing the worst construction upon my 
unfortunate admission. I humbly demand a truce.” Then, 
in an interval of quiet his eyes fell to the ground, and he 
muttered a repetition of her sentence. “It may break forth 
sometime.” 

“I didn’t understand you, sir,” said Minnie. He lifted 
his eyelids and his gaze wandered slowly over her person, 
yet he did not seem to see her. 


OLD ANTIIOXY’S SECRET. 


45 


sir, in wliat do I astonish you ? ” said Minnie who 
supposed he had counterfeited a look of wonder. 

“Love is volcanic,” he said, and releasing her hand from 
his arm he abruptly started forward to where the moun- 
tain boys were ranged in front of the target for pistol 
shooting. Then he stopped quite as abruptly placed his 
hand to his forehead an instant looked back and waving 
his hand to Minnie, disappeared in the crowd. Minnie 
was astonished and quite uncertain whether she ouglit to 
be very angry or not at first, but when he waved his hand 
and showed an amiable countenance, she concluded to 
make light of it, and so stepping up to Alice and Mr. El- 
cott, slie was about to consult with the former how she 
should punish her recreant brother, when she OA^erheard 
Avhat brought her to a sudden halt behind them, and 
almost froze her heart in her bosom. 

“Love me with your Avhole soul. It has been doubted 
if that be altogether possible for a man to do. It is Avhat 
I demand, but I fear I shall have to content myself 
with less. Its a common experience.” 

“I am satisfied that it is one of the possibiUties of my 
nature,” said Mr. Elcott. 

Poor Minnie turned her back upon them, and her feet 
felt heavy as she retuimed to the spot where Mr. Balford 
had left her. She had, before, more than suspected the 
attempt of Alice to tvin her lover from her, although up 
to that moment she had never doubted him. Now, she 
could perceive (It is remarkable hoAV wonderfully clear 
the vision of an angry lover becomes) something more 
than mere courtesy in the exchange Mr. Elcott had effected. 
Poor Minnie ! Elcott and Alice with the grand passion for 
a subject, and Mr. Balford had forsaken her. He stepped 
in among the mountain boys and taking a pistol said : 
“Boys Avill you give a stranger the first fire?” and the 
mountain boys, Avith native etiquette, replied “Blaze aAvay.” 
Whereupon he raised his Aveapon with an arm as steady as 
an iron bar, and when the shot had sped, the bell over- 


46 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


hanging the target tinkled. Then the mountain boys ex- 
claimed, center shot the first fire ! ” and he left them 
abruptly. When he returned, he said : 

‘^P^orgive me. Miss Minnie, for leaving you so abruptly. 
If you will just this time I will never run away again.” 

‘‘You are quite excusable, sir,” slie said curtly. Poor 
child ! All joyance had died out of her lieart in an instant 
and laughter no longer peeped from her blue eyes. 

“Seriously, Miss Minnie, I am more sorry than I can say, 
if 1 have offended you. Believe me, I would rather have 
your kind thoughts than yon mountain turned into gold.” 
And Mr. Balford looked admiringly upon her. She could 
not dispel the sadness from her face, nor exclude it from 
the tones of her voice. She felt too deeply. 

“Indeed, indeed, sir, I am not angry. I hope you will 
not think me capable of taking so slight a matter so seri- 
ously.” A slight matter, indeial, it did appear to her com- 
pared with what she had overheard. 

“I was rude, and deserve at least a frown,” he said. lie 
would rather she should regard it as a slight breach of 
decorum than be searching after some hidden cause for his 
strange behavior. Tie perceived that she waS despondent, 
yet could hot perceive or imagine a cause. Meanwliile, 
the pistol shots had been following each other in quick 
succession, and at the end of a few minutes one of the 
marksmen came to inform Mr. Balford that the prize lay 
between him and a Mr. Little. 

“I didn’t shoot, sir, with a view to contest for the prize. 
Present Mr. Little with my compliments, and tell him that 
he is the winner.” 

His companion had ceased to be companionable. “I am 
afraid. Miss Minnie, something has disturbed you.” He 
said it kindly, almost anxiously. 

“I am not feeling so well as I was a short time since, but 
I shall be able to scold again after awhile,” she replied, 
making a desperate effort to throw off her despondency, 
but the faint smile did not clearly indicate success. 


OLD Anthony's secret. 


4T 


^‘Sliall we join the others ? 

“If you please, sir,” she replied 

When they reached Alice and Mr. Elcott the latter were 
talking of fox grapes and honeysuckles. 

Oh, love is too delicate a matter for others to hear ; they 
have suddenly changed the subject,” she thought. It was 
further proof of the wiles of the hauglity Alice, and her 
lover’s fickleness. Poor Minnie ! Out of sheer desperation 
and that the haughty Alice might not suspect her heart 
was sore, she would do a little flirting under the eyes and 
in the hearing of both of them. 

Therefore, Mr. Balford was once more affected with 
astonishment by a sudden and unaccountable change in 
his companion. 

“This chevalier for whom I exchanged the one with 
which you appear to be well satisfied, Alice, ran away 
from me abruptly, and I have just recovered him, though 
he is yet under ban and I have not decided upon his 
penance.” 

“Shame on him! I and the chevalier Elcott are of the 
same opinion on all things. We agree heartily.” 

“On one subject your opinions are not far apart, I’m 
sure.” She said it just a little bitterly. Poor Minnie! 
And Elcott regarded her with a look of inquiry, but he 
couldn t catch her eye ; she wouldn’t look at him. 

“But he came back to me pleading forgiveness. Do you 
remember, sir, what you felt disposed to give for my good, 
wishes ? ” 

“Was it my heart or a mountain of gold ? ” 

“Choose.” 

“One I own, the other I don’t. I’ll give what belongs 
to me.” 

“And I consider it very valuable, sir, they are yours.” 
Wliereupon she placed her hand in his, and he put it to 
his lips. 

She had by that act set three hearts beating to different 
tunes. Love sprang, Phoenix like, from the ashes of ^tna ; 


48 


OLD AXTIIOXY'S SECRET. 


it began to throb and burn, the heart of Mr. Balford, I 
mean. With that delicate, intuitive sense that enables 
women, as I am told, to correctly interpret, from the slight- 
est acts and ambiguous expressions, the mental motions 
of each other, Alice knew that she had awakened the 
green-eyed monster I have mentioned ; so her heart accel- 
erated its action a very little, while her mind was busy 
Avith the question how the breach already made betAveen 
the loA^ers might be Avidened. The central muscle of El- 
cott’s organism, like Minnie’s a feAV moments before, stood 
still for a moment and then began pounding aAvay at his 
ribs Avith bloAvs distressingly rapid and vigorous. Had 
that soA^ereign specific not been exhausted, a sniall dose of 
common sense Avould have enabled Minnie to keep her 
tongue quiescent, and await dcA^elopments, and a larger 
dose would have accomplished the same happy result for 
Elcott; but he never once thought of it Avhen he replied to 
the little farce that he mistook for a tragedy. 

‘‘Miss Brock Avill be enabled to carry Mr. Balford’s heart 
very easily since she has made him light-hearted, I dare 
say, and has not burthened herself Avith any other.” Miss 
Brock! he had ahvays called her Minnie, he had spoken 
bitterly, and Miss Alice smiled. 

“If it prove a false heart, Mr. Elcott, I can throAV it 
aAvay.” 

“I shall take good care to give you no cause. Miss 
Brock.” 

“She Avill need no cause, Avhen so inclined. I didn’t ex- 
pect so complete an exchange, sir,” said Elcott sharply 
Avith a double guttural, you see, Avhich might have proved 
the beginning of a quarrel then and there ; but Miss Alice 
did not Avant that. She cut in before her brother. 

“And you have a heavy heart on account of it, Mr. Elcott. 
Well, I Avill help carry it for you.” And she brought that 
lieaA^enly smi-le of hers to bear upon him. 

Thus Minnie had infected her lover with a spiritual 
jaundice, and they kept on aggravating the disease by 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


49 


feeding it. The fools! Excuse me, gentle reaaer. I’m out 
of all patience with them. Had I been present they should 
have had one draught apiece of common sense ; by which 
statement I don't wish to be regarded as commending my- 
self, since a fool oftimes manifests wisdom in the affairs 
of others. Even the wily Alice, might liave proved une- 
(|ual to the task of preventing a quarrel between these 
two men, for there were symptoms of tire in Elcott’s dark 
eye as he glanced at Balford, and no Balford ever flinched 
from a contest. As intimated it was part of their family 
creed. But the tournament was over, and the fiddles were 
being tuned for the customary dance on the green. 

“Now, that the tliund(?r of the guns is hushed and the 
sulphurous gas displaced by pure air, vibrating to musi- 
cal tones, perhaps we had better go near and see if there 
may be anything in the mountain dancing to amuse us,’^ 
■aid Alice. They accordingly moved forward with one 
accord, and stood looking upon the forming of the sets. 
Now, Mr. Little, a flaxen-headed, broad-shouldered, prod- 
uct of the mountains, had, by virtue of his steady nerves, 
carried off the highest prizes with pistol and rifle at the 
tournament, and stimulated by a glass of “mountain dew,” 
considered that he of right was entitled, for his partner 
in the dance, to the best dressed, if not handsomest girl 
on the ground. Ilis eyes wandered over the crowd in 
order to determine the question. 

“Say, look yor, Jim, who is that girl at Elcott’s elber?” 
inquired Mr. Little of a companion. 

“Why, she’s the rich girl es bought the Mathew^ place. 
Tliat’s her brother on the other side of her — feller es made 
the first center shot ofi* hand.” 

“Them’s cm, oh! Wall, she’s the girl I want.” And there- 
upon, Mr. Little elbowed his way through the crowd, and 
«tood before Alice. He didn’t eyen say, “excuse me” to 
Mr. Balford, only “Howdy,” to Elcott. He said : — 

“Miss, I want your company, ef ye please, for a dance.” 


50 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


“I don’t know you, sir,” said the hauglity Alice, in dis- 
gust at mountain manners. 

^‘Oh, that don’t make a bit of difference. Miss,” said Mr. 
Little, pleasantly. 

“Excuse me. Miss Minnie,” said Thomas Balford, releas- 
ing his arm. “It makes a very great difference, sir.” 
Whereupon he deliberately reached out his hand and seiz- 
ing Mr. Little by the ear and jerking him around, set his 
face ill the direction he had come, and pointed it out to 
him ill silence. When his ear was released, Mr. Little, 
both maddened and astonished beyond expression, re- 
garded Mr. Balford vindictively and in silence for a mo- 
ment, and his hand moved involuntarily to his side after 
his pistol. It wasn’t there ; he had unbelted it and laid it 
aside to dance. 

The insult was deadly. -The mountain boy was con- 
scious of intending no harm, and was entirely ignorant of 
the fact that the Balfords had a pedigree. 

“Ef I havn’t been polite to you. Miss, I didn’t know it, 
and I beg your pardon ; but ef that’s your brother he’» 
got to beg mine, or one of us ’ll die, sure.” But Mr. Bal- 
ford made him no reply, only pointed him again in the 
direction he desired him to go. Mr. Little went directly 
toward where his pistol lay. The crowd instantly became 
confused, and several cried out to everybody : “Don’t let 
them fight !” but made no effort to stop it themselves. It 
was a dangerous undertaking. 

“Take the ladies out of range, Elcott; he is going to 
shoot,” said Thomas Balford very quietly, as he placed his 
hand on the handle of his revolver. To effect that under- 
taking, Mr. Elcott was compelled to seize the two young 
ladies by the arms and use force — almost drag them away. 
Some ladies have a great proclivity for stopping balls 
aimed at their friends or lovers, and even under an errone- 
ous conviction of saving human life, on general principles, 
sometimes, bless them ! It was this last consideration that 
impelled Minnie to offer her little body for a fortification ; 


OLD AXTIIOXY S SECRET. 


51 


while the fact that it was her brother prompted Alice. 
But Mr. Elcott drew them away, and Mr. Little fired. 
One nervous girl, blinded by terror, came rushing across 
Thomas Bal ford’s line of fire, when his finger was upon 
the trigger ; he lowered his weapon instantly, and as coolly 
as though he had been practicing at a target. Bangl 
whifFI again from Mr. Little, and there was a slight puflT 
of dust from Mr. Balford’s left coat sleeve, on which it 
had gathered ; but the next instant a shot sped from his 
hand of iron, and the extended arm of the mountain boy 
fell to his side, and his pistol dropped to the ground where 
it exploded harmlessly. 

“There’s a heap of difference shootin at men and bulls- 
eyes ain’t there?” said a mountain boy who had been de- 
feated by Little in the tournament, as the latter reeled on 
his feet and sank upon the ground. 

Then, a petite little figure got down on its knees by the 
head of the wounded lad, and the face of sweet Mollie 
Sawyer, turned up full of terror and wet with tears, 
appealingly to the crowd. 

“I’m so sorry for oo, tousin Jim,” and she kissed the 
white face of the wounded lad. Some of the mountain 
boys placed their hands on their weapons and peered 
through the crowd after Mr. Balford. 

“Let it stop here, boys. Jim has a ball in his shoulder, 
and Balford one in his arm. Both ought to be satisfied, 
and its nobody’s quarrel but theirs. You have vindicated 
your honor like a man, Jim, and will be all right in a 
couple of weeks. I’ll attend to you myself,” said Nathan- 
iel Gautier, who had come on to the ground with Mollie 
a few moments before the affray. 

“Yes, we’ll take oo home, and I’ll nurse oo,” said Mollie. 
And the wounded man smiled. 

“I am sorry you have been startled, ladies, by this occur- 
rence,” said Mr. Balford. 

“We ought to leave here at once,” said Alice. 


52 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


"“If you will take my right arm, Miss Minnie, the other 
is lame,” said Balford as they moved off. 

“Blessed be the peace-maker I Oh I Mr. Gautier, you 
• know not only how to flatter divinely, but you know just 
how to say, ‘Peace, be still ! ’ And I say again, may the 
peace-maker be blessed.” 

“Amen I and lam blessed,” replied Nathaniel Gautier 
looking smilingly into the face of the young girl who hung, 
he thought, fondly on his arm. She was more beautiful 
than Miss Alice, if not so queenly, and it was quite appa- 
rent that if he had said, “I love you, be my wife,” she 
wouldn't have coquetted with him a moment. There was 
such a look in her eyes, and her arm clung to his in such a 
manner as assured him of the fact. And he felt that he 
cx)uld love Lizzie Mathews if it didn^t so happen that he 
worshiped Alice Balford. 


CHAPTEB VI. 

THE UNACCOUNTABLE ACTIONS OP OLD ANTHONY. HE TAKES 
GREAT INTEREST IN LITTLE MOLLIE SAWYER 

The morning was well advanced when Anthony Grater 
came out of his hovel. He had his door to flx, the fasten- 
ings of which we have seen were broken. Moreover, he 
had to retrace his steps through the cavern and remove the 
ladder and board from over the trap and hide them away 
on this side of it, and both together occupied a great deal 
of time. Anthony Grater was a most considerate man, 
and was by no means willing to leave a highway over the 
chasm, by which some one might be enabled to pass to his 
treasure in his absence. While he was at home, it was of 
equal importance that the highway should be ready for him 
to pass over. Year by year, it was noticed that he left his 
home less frequently, as that loadstone of his affections 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


53 


drew him, j)roportionately with greater power as it in- 
creased in bulk, towards itself. Exce}>t as the petty traffic, 
in which he still engaged, induced him hence at intervals, 
he remained at home. It had, perhaps, not been generally 
noticed, yet was a fact that, for two years past, he had 
changed the route by which, for over a quarter of a cen- 
tury, he had reached the Court House Square, on one side 
of which stood the business houses of the hamlet. It ^vas 
a little strange, too, since the latter route was the longest. 
But he made the shop of Mr. Bartholomew Sawyer, the 
tombstone artist and builder of those most enduring ten- 
ements tor the tinal rest of the weary, a stopping place by 
the way. The Sawyers did not know why ho made that a 
stopping place. Although Anthony Grater may have con- 
templated the cost of his own gravestone, as well as the 
fact that in tlie course of nature he would soon require 
one, if he wished to be held in remembrance for his many 
virtues, yet he had never said anything to Mr. Bar- 
tholomew Sawyer about one. He had been a perpetual 
source of anxiety to Mrs. Bartholomew Sawyer, since in 
all human probability, he would die at last alone in his 
hovel, with nobody near from whom she might be able to 
gather his last words. She had attempted on one occa- 
sion to express to him her fears on this score. Said she, 
''Grandpa Anthony, don’t you think you ought not to live 
altogether alone at your age. Old people are apt to 
die at 

“At any age from sixty to a hundred — I say from sixty 
to a hundred,” said Anthony interrupting her snappishly. 
“You want to write my epitaph, but you shan’t — I say you 
shan’t. I’ll write my own. Or, perhaps, your husband 
has drawn a pattern of my gravestone already, but he’ll 
have to wait a long time before he cuts it — I say a long 
time.” Bartholomew Sawyer stopped shoving his plane 
to reply : — 

“I hope I may, sure. I’ve seed a tree sometimes as was 
knarled and knotty and cross grained, have the best kind 


54 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


o’ timber in their in’ards,. Its the straight grained fellers, 
mostly, as hes the the most checks in em, anyway.” 

“You are right, Bartholomew Sawyer, yes, yes. Your 
husband has common sense enough for both of you, Han- 
nah Sawyer — I say for both,” he growled. 

And Mrs. Bartholomew Saw)^!’ had said, good-humor- 
edly, “that he was as cross as ever,” and went out. And 
Mollie — for Anthony always sat down on Bartholomew 
Sawyer’s hewing block, which brought his head nearly to 
a level with her own — Mollie, who had taken off his hat, 
and had been passing her little fat hands over his shiny 
bald pate, and been tracing the deep wrinkles on his face, 
with the tips of her little dimpled fingers, said : — 

‘ Go musn’t be tross to Mama, Dranpa Anfony, if oo do 
be tross to Mama I not tiss oo aiiy mo.” 

And Anthony Grater placed his great hand on the 
child’s head and said, “Yes, yes. Well, I won’t — I say I 
won’t, my child.” 

“You must send her to school, but not too early. I’ll 
come in and teach her some things myself — E say some 
things myself, Bartholomew.” 

“Wish you would, Anthony, ef ye have time. You kin 
do it I know. Yer like this piece of walnut I’m plainin. 
Tliar’s a mighty rich grain when I git through the 
roughness.” 

“Yes, Yes, she must be taught,” said Anthony as he arose 
and Went hobbling out. 

But at a short distance it was a new man in Anthony’s 
clothes who, the forenoon after the picnic came walking 
along his accustomed path. Anthony Grater was won- 
derfully rejuvenated in appearance by being straightened 
out ; and he smiled in contemplation of the astonishment 
with which he would be greeted by the denizens of the 
hamlet. As he stepped on to the street from around the 
corner of a dwelling, he observed approaching Nathaniel 
Gautier leading Mollie Sawyer by the hand. They stood 


OLD ANTIIONY^S SECRET. 55 

still, and blank amazement manifested in the countenances 
of both. 

“Who is at, Nat, wis Dranpa Aufony’s tloes on ? ” 

“AYhy, it must be Anthony himself straightened out ; 
but its a wonderful transformation, Lily blossom.” 

“Tansfomation, what is at ? ” 

“That’s change — his back is unbent.” 

“Oil, it is Dranpa Antony I ” exclaimed Mollie as she 
caught a clear view of his well known face when he raised 
his head ; she had traced every line on it Avith her finger. 
She darted away from the side of the young gentleman 
of Adair, and ran to meet him. The old miser looked 
amiable for a moment as he gazed upon the child running 
towards him. Tlie harsh straight furroAVS relaxed into 
symmetrical cuiwes as his face broadened into a smile. The 
parchment face became pleasant to look upon as the little 
one hopped up on her toes several times in succession, and 
clapped her little hands exclaiming, “I’m so dlad, Dranpa 
Anfony, I’m so dlad ! ” 

The old man took her hand and muttered : “Its the only 
living thing that’s not deceitful, except a dog. I’d keep a 
dog if it Avern’t so costly — I say if it didn’t require meat. 
Why are you glad, my child — I say Avhy are you glad?” 

“Tause oo back is stwaight, oo poo back,” and the child 
reached up and placed her hand upon it. “But I taut 
weach oo head noAV.” It Avas yesterday almost on a level 
Avith her oavu, uoav it Avas higher than that of the young 
gentleman of Adair, Avho had stopped at his OAvn front 
gat(^ and awaited their approach. 

“But you shall reach it — I say you shall,” and the old 
man lifted the child in his arms. He had nevmr been able 
to do so before, and the novelty pleased her, so that she 
laughed gleefully, Avhile she took off his old hat and patled 
his bald pate. It AA^as thus they approached the young 
gentleman of Adair, Avlio respectfully removed his hat and 
boAved to the old miser. 

“I assure you, Mr. Grater, it’s a great pleasure to see 


56 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


you so agreeably transformed. Surely, by changing the 
gender Dryden’s verse will apply to you : — 

“Mark hii majestic fabric ; he’s a temple 
Sacred by birth and built by hands divine. 

His soul’s the deity that lodg'^s there ; 

Nor is the pile unworthy of the God.’’ 

“You’ve a fine brain for poetry, Master Gautier, and a 
great tongue for fiattery,” answered the old man. Yet it 
pleased him, and a man need never be morally despaired 
of who can be flattered ; for he either respects himself so 
excessively as to believe it true, or he respects society suf- 
ficiently to hope that public opinion will accept concerning 
him what he does not believe to be true, so that it eviden- 
ces either self-respect, or respect for public opinion, both 
of which serve to protect him from grave errors against 
public morals. 

“Indeed, you appear to be twenty years younger, Mr. 
Grater, eyery year of it.” 

“I am twenty years younger, Mr. Gautier — I say I’m 
good for twenty years, yes, yes.” 

“How did 00 do it, Dranpa Anfoiiy — liow did oo do it?’^ 

The child was learning of Anthony — there could be no 
doubt about it. She was beginning to give her ideas in 
duplicate. 

“Yes, how did it happen, Mr. Grater; your relief must 
have come suddenly? -Day before yesterday I, saw you 
bent as usual.” 

“Sudden, yes, it was sudden. It came of lifting a heavy 
body up h’glier than I could reach. I thought I had killed 
mysel.' at first — I say 1 thought I had killed myself,” and 
the old man was moving off with Mollie. 

“Oo musn’t take me wis oo.” 

“Why not — I say why not ? ” 

“I must doe in an nuss poo tousin Jim. The man shot 
him true the solder.’’ 

“Jim who— what’s that, Mr. Gautier ?” 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


57 


Thereupon the young gentleman of Adair narrated the 
occurrence at the picnic. 

‘‘Balford — yes, yes, he’s the one who purchased the 
Mathews place.” Then Anthony set Mollie on the ground 
and asked her if she had a pocket. 

‘‘Ess I have a ’ittle potet in my piniitbre,” she replied 
and began to look for it. When she had found it, Anthony 
put his two fingers in it, turned it inside out and exam- 
ined it very carefully. 

‘TIa, ha, ha! What is oo doin wis it, Dranpa Anfony ? ” 

“Where is your pocket handkerchief — I say where is 
your pocket handkerchief ? ” 

‘T tied it around Pop’s net so she won’t tate told.’’ Pop 
was her doll, and old Anthony had made Pop’s acquaint- 
ance a long time ago. 

“You ought not to go visiting without a handkerchief — 
I say you must remember,” and he took from his coat 
pocket a large piece of paper, and hesitated — he thrust his 
thumb and finger into a pocket of his ancient vest, and 
hesitated again. lie took them out of his vest pocket and 
fumbled with the sheet of paper a little, and began to fold 
it up — he unfolded it again and thrust his thumb and 
finger once more into the vest pocket, and let them remain 
there for a few moments. 

“Well, dood-bye Dranpa,” said Mollie, and held out her 
hand. Then, he appeared to summon up resolution to 
carry out his contemplated design, and withdrew his finger 
and thumb once more. There was a Mexican dollar be- 
tween them this time, which he nervously and with des- 
perate energy thrust in among the folds of the paper, and 
began with trembling fingers to crumple the latter into a 
ball about it. When it was completed he hesitated once 
more. It was a diflicult thing for the old man to do. 

“Dranpa Anfony, dood-bye, I tell oo.” His eyes fell 
upon the child with outstretched hand, and human love 
won a small victory. He stooped and thrust the ball into 
her little pocket. 


58 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


^^Don’t lose it, I say don’t lose it — its a silver dollar — & 
great deal for a poor old man to give, or a little child to 
receive. Yes, yes, a dollar. Teach her all you know that’s 
good, your polite manner, for instance. Master Gautier, for 
she’ll bring her husband somethiug more than beauty, per- 
haps, more enduring aud necessary to his happiness — I say 
his happiness.” He held the child’s hand in his for the few 
moments during which he lingered, and the young gentle- 
man of Adair just lifted his hat from his head a little, and 
bade the old man good-bye. 

“But the old man said very mysteriously as he turned 
to go. “Yes, yes, you may flatter me. I don’t mind it. 
It can do no harm. But don’t flatter Lizzie Mathews — I 
say, leave her alone. She carries a high head, and may 
meet with reverses. Flattery won’t prepare her against 
reverses. I say that’s wrong ; let her get another lover. 
And you waste your time on Alice Balford — I say keep 
your heart free or you’ll rue it.” Then he walked ofi* with- 
out waiting for a reply, leaving the young gentleman full 
of wonder not unmixed with a little vexation. 

Anthony Grater had weighty business on his mind that 
day. He had never had occasion to enter a lawyer’s office ; 
but he knew Judge Ernest Free very well, and was dis- 
posed to trust him beyond any other man he knew, which 
was not entirely, however. It was to the Judge’s office 
that Anthony was making his way. He was met by a 
number of the people on the street, each of whom first 
expressed astonishment at seeing him so suddenly straight- 
ened out and then wished to know all about it. But An- 
thony had the same answer for each and never halted to 
deliver it. “It was done by a band of evil spirits at mid-" 
night — I say at midnight.” As Judge Free had effected 
some minor cures by the potent influence of a magnetic 
touch, and Anthony was seen to enter the Judge’s office, it 
was known generally throughout the hamlet, in half an 
hour, that the Judge who was wise in all mystical lore, and 
Anthony who was gruesome and uncanny, and for half a 


OLD ANTHONY^S SECKET. 


59 


century had shrouded himself in mystery, had together 
evoked spiritual aid, and effected a miracle. As many 
as could from their windows kept their eyes upon 
the Judge’s door, waiting for old Anthony to reappear. 
When he entered the J udge’s office the Judge turned his 
large eyes upon him and looked him quickly over from 
head to foot. 

^‘Well, by the Everlasting, Mr. Anthony Grater, you are 
wonderfully improved in your appearance. Who has 
taken the kink out of your back ? ” 

“I was lifting a ladder and ” 

“I see, you straightened up, and the muscles suddenly 
relaxed. Well, 1 congratulate you, but you will have to 
give a more satisfactory reason than that or you will have 
the whole village after you crying, a mii'aclc, a miracle! 
Such things don’t happen very often, Mr. Grater, nor by 
accident. You were not altogether yourself, or you would 
never have attempted to lift the ladder so high, you would 
have been in too great fear of breaking your precious 
back. You were under some powerful influence, Mr. 
Grater, and was hardly yourself at the time.” 

Anthony Grater knew the Judge to be a Arm believer in 
the ministrations of spirits. 

‘^You are right — I say you are right. I was under a 
novel influence for me, and powerful, ha, ha! Yes, 
powerful.” 

“Day or night, Mr. Grater ? ” 

<^ight — it was at night.” 

“I supposed ; so they were guardian spirits. What time 
at night ? ” 

“It was near midnight — I say near midnight.” 

“Is your room kept dark ? ” 

“There are shutters on the window, yes, yes, shutters.” 

“Darkness and quiet, favorable conditions both. I have 
heard the audible voices of those I have known in life at 
such times, and been told things of which I was ignorant, 
but afterwards found out to be true. They have warned 


60 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


me several times of dangers approaching of which I was 
unsuspicioijs, and ordered me to leave, whereby my life 
has been saved. I have cross-examined myself at the time 
to determine if it were possible for me to be under a de- 
lusion of any kind. t am a natural skeptic, sir, and 
they may laugh who please, but by blank, I have been 
forced to believe in them, and I know that they appear 
sometimes and influence us often.” 

“Then, Anthony Grater began to consider it he had not 
been warned, and his own safety thus secured ; if, indeed, 
invisible entities had not preceded the robbers and stood 
about his couch at midnight. He remembered what ap- 
peared to be a voice in his ear between sleeping and wak- 
ing saying, “Get up, Anthony, get up ! ” He wondered if 
the far off patter of the horses’ feet on the mountain side 
would have been suflS.cient to wake him. He slept lightly, 
but he remembered the sounds were distant and light. 
His safety demanded not only that he should be awakened, 
but that his back should be suddenly straightened, else his 
movements would have been so slow that the robbers 
would, in all probability, have overtaken him. He beheld 
spread out before him the three hypotheses. Providence 
operating through natural law, spirit interference through 
natural law, and the uncontrolled operation of natural 
law. He did not stop, perhaps he was unable to determine 
which, so he answered : 

“Maybe — I say, maybe.” 

“But, by the Everlasting, sir, there’s no maybe about it ; 
its true.” 

“Well, well, let it be so — I say let it be so.” And old 
Anthony’s mind reverted to other matters. He looked 
suspiciously about the room. He would be doubly sure 
they were alone. 

“I want counsel. Judge Free ; lock the door — I say lock 
the door.” 

We won’t be disturbed, probably, or if we are, we are 
masters of our own tongues.” 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


61 


“But we are liable to be interrupted — I say we are. 
They will be in to make inquiries about my back. I found 
it hard to get here — I’ll lock the door.” 

Thereupon old Anthony got up and turned the key in 
the lock. After he had resumed his seat the Judge 
waited some time for him to begin. He softened his gut- 
turals into a coarse whisper and hitched his chair up near 
to that of the Judge. 

“Suppose, Judge Free, ” 

“Stop. Do you want to consult me about a criminal or 
civil matter ? ” 

“A business affair — I say business.” 

“Then, by blank, Mr. Grater, I never give an opinion on 
a supposable case, yes, ha, ha, I can’t afford to do it.” 

“And why not — I say why not ? ” 

“Because thei-e is not a suit of importance that comes 
up in this county, that I’m not on one side or the other, 
and when I have given advice, which is never haphazard, 
sir, I never know whether I have been bestowing the 
product of my brains on a future client or his opponent. 
Then, I want to know who A, B and C are, for the issue of 
the suit often depends upon wlio A, B and C may be, and 
I know the whole alphabet of this county. Besides, Mr. 
Grater, if I am not fit to be trusted with the names of the 
parties in interest, blank nie, if I’m fit to be trusted with 
the interests of the man who counsels with me. Ha, ha, 
yes, when a lawyer ceases to respect himself, others 
will soon cease to respect him both personally and profes- 
sionally. I would rather take to picking up rags for a liv- 
ing than degenerate into a mere pettifogger.” 

“I’ll not wound your self-respect — I say I’ll not do so. 
James Grow was a fool who had a very beautiful daughter, 
I say she was a beautiful girl.” 

“Exactly, Mr. Grater, the foolish James Grow had a 
beautiful daughter. Very clearly stated and in duplicate ; 
I shall have no trouble in following you. But I never 
knew James Grow.” 


62 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


knew the man of whom I speak.” 

“Go on,” said Judge Free. 

“George Blow was a reckless and dissipated young man, 
and James Grow owed George Blow's father money. A 
large sum — I say a large sum. The young lady married 
this George Blow against her will, and the debt was can- 
celled, yes, yes.” Old Anthony looked very steadily upon 
the floor and seemed to forget where he was and to whom 
he was talking. 

“And the debt was cancelled,” repeated the Judge. 

“Yes, yes. Where was I? Let me see. To be sure, 
George Blow made a bad husband. She died of grief in 
a year and left a daughter. He grew more dissolute^. Its 
this I want to tell you — I say this is it ; and in order to in- 
duce a designing widow to marry him, he deeded all his 
property to a relative, and received it back again as trustee 
for the use and benefit of the second wife, the widow, 
during her life, and next for any children that might sur- 
vive her, which were to receive only the rents and profits 
until they were severally twenty- six years of age — I say 
twenty-six. The second wife died and left one daughter, 
for whom he held the property in trust. After she was 
twenty-one and before she was twenty-six years old — 1 say 
before she was twenty-six she made a deed of the property 
to her father, her trustee. He made a deed to — — ” 

“Miss Alice Balford, ha, ha ! Yes, I know all about it. 
Its the Mathew’s estate,” said the Judge. 

“How did you know — I say how did you know ?” 

“There hasn’t occurred such another transaction in the 
county. But that daughter by the first wife, what became 
of her?” 

“That has nothing to do with the case — I say nothing 
to do with it.” 

“Well, well ! ha, ha I Go on.” 

“Well, if you know — I say if you know, I’ll use* their 
names. Mr. James Mathews, the trustee, who received the 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


6a 


deed from his daughter Lizzie Mathews and sold to Alice 
Balford, purchased another place.” 

Anthony hitclied his chair up nearer to the Judge, “I say 
another place, and the unpaid purchase money is due at 
the end of the year. The holder of his notes won’t wait, 
and Mathews is expecting the money from the Balfords on 
their two notes for unpaid purchase money of six thousand 
two hundred and fifty dollars, each — I say each. The Bal- 
fords liavn’t got the money and can’t get it — I say they 
can’t get it. I have a friend, a very grea,t friend, I say, who 
would lend Mr. Mathews the money on the Balford notes^ 
if they are a good lieu, I say if they are a good lien on the 
old Mathews’ place.” 

“And you want to know of me, if they are a good lien. 
My opinion is unsettled, because our Supreme Court is as 
liable to decide one way as the other. It has always been 
noted rather for its acumen in detecting technical flaws 
and reversing decisions on immaterial grounds than for 
applying the broad principles of law and equity. I have 
had my attention called to the transaction before, and I 
don’t consider the notes altogether a safe investment.” 

‘^But, Mr. Mathews will want the money — say he will 
want the money, and he would be willing to dispose of the 
notes at a discount, at least at their face, and secure them 
and the cost of their collection on the place he has pur- 
chased — I say he would probably be willing to do it.” 

'T think it likely, Mr. Grater.” 

“He would pay you to negotiate the loan — I say he would 
pay you.” 

. “No, I’ll be blanked if he would, Mr. Grater. I’m a 
lawyer not a broker.” 

“You want to foreclose the mortgage notes — I say you 
want to get him into court and sell his place.” 

The Judge leapt to his feet. His black eyes were all 
ablaze and his body trembled with passion. He could not 
speak for a moment. 


64 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


“Get out of my office, sir ! I’ll be hlanhed if any man 
can talk to me in that way.” 

“I shan’t — I say I shan’t,” said Anthony clinging to the 
chair which the Judge motioned to him to vacate. 

“Ha, ha, ha! ’’ laughed the Judge to see Anthony so like 
a stubborn schoolboy. “He’ll be in some time and I’ll tell 
him.” The storm was over. 

‘•But what had the lovers and all that to do with it ? ” 
“Nothing to you, but something to my friend — I say, 
something to my friend, perhaps They needn’t know 
that I’ve talked of anything but my back — I say, my back.” 
And Anthony by a comprehensive sweep of his hand in- 
cluded the hamlet. “It may have been the spirits. I’m 
not so sure — Isay, I’m not so sure.” Whereupon he un- 
locked the door and went out. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE BALFORD BLOOD BOILING. A BUZZARD SNUFFS A 
TAINT IN THE AIR. 

On the morning succeeding the day of the picnic, Mr. 
Thomas Balford walked back and forth on the piazza that 
extended the entire length of the mansion. A very sub- 
stantial structure was what went by the name of the 
Mathews house. The main building was an exact square 
two stories in height. The roof projected some twelve 
feet in front and rested upon four round columns of brick 
smootlily cemented and painted white. These sustained 
an ornamental front, surmounted by a heavy cornice, all of 
wood and behind which the roof of the structure was 
hidden. The kitchen department and negro quarters were 
attached to the rear. Ornamental trees and flowering 
shrubs were judiciously arranged in clumps and avenues 
upon the lawn in front , and take it all in all, it was a very 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


65 


delightful place which Thomas Balford had selected for 
the residence of his sister and himself — if it were only 
imid for. A dreadful ravager of nature is a mortgage 
lien. It robs even the honeysuckle of its aroma and the 
muss rose of its beautiful color. Thomas Balford walked 
back and forth with his arm in a sling, gesticulating furi- 
ously with his right, and muttering to himself aloud. 
Alice had come to inform him that breakfast was ready^ 
but after her sluirp, thoughtful, brown eyes had caught a 
glimpse of his pantomime she deferred it for a little, and 
walked back and forth by his side ; she had something to 
inquire about. Colonel AVade Hampton White, as he 
occasionally named himself, had something to see about, 
which brought him around at that moment to the front of 
of the piazza. Old JIamp had passed the age when he 
could perform any hard labor, and had been practically 
freed by his master, a Mr. Coleman, whose father had 
brought him with him from Virginia when a boy. He 
was i^ermitted to go where he pleased and do such light 
labor as going of errands, keeping flower gardens clear of 
weeds, etc., for which he received such compensation as 
those for whom he performed such services chose to give. 
By reason of liis sunny temperament, odd ways and un- 
derlying stratum of hard sense, he was a universal favor- 
ite, and Avas kept busy. Indeed, those who rated laughter 
at its true value, knew that it paid to keep him about them. 

^‘AVhat are you doing, Hampton ? ” inquired Alice. 

“W}', bress yo soul. Honey, des yer weeds is jes takin 
de pinks and daisies and balsams, an dey’ll kiver em all 
up afo long. Ise jis contributed a little circumflectioii 
on des yer weeds, my fa^mrite, and dey are jis like bad 
thoughts, a heap sight more numerical den de good ones, 
an dey’ll play de berry debil wid em. Honey, ef you let em 
keep on growin, yah, yah, ha, haAV ! dats so. 

“You are quite correct, Hampton, there is no doubt 
about that I suspect you have had a great many bad 
thoughts in your time.” 


66 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


“Lawrl love you, you’s correct, shoo, and it come mighty 
tough on me to pull em out when I was about your age, 
my dallin rosebud, and Massa Balford, dar. D'ye circum- 
spect de abrasions ob dat idea. Honey ? Yah, yali, haw, he !” 

^‘You get the better of me every time, Hampton, said 
Alice turning to her brother, and addressed him. ^‘You 
and Mr. Elcott seemed to be somewhat provoked with 
each other yesterday, brother, and I am afraid you are 
nourishing some of Hampton’s weeds instead of plucking 
them out. She knew that her brother had been debating 
the question whether or not the last evening’s proceedings 
amounted to a slight of or manifestation of contempt foi* 
the Balfords on the part of Elcott. If so, then tlie Balford 
blood was in duty bound to boil and demand some sort 
of satisfaction in order to cool it. 

“He excused himself from accompanying you home, 
with a piece of impudent sarcasm moulded into the form 
of a compliment to me. It was more than any Balford 
ought to endure, and he must answer for it,” said her 
brother. 

“Then, I accept the challenge in his stead, Tom,” said 
Alice looking into her brother’s eyes very seriously. 

“What are you so far gone ? ” 

Now, Tom, look at the whole matter through my spec- 
tacles for a moment,” said the astute Alice. “You have 
fallen desperately in love with Minnie Brock ” 

“That’s a rash assumption. Love, pah I I’ve something 
else to think of.” 

“Don’t interrupt me — I know I’m in love with John 
Elcott, I don’t deny it. Now, if you had been in Elcott’s 
place when Minnie began to give, as she thought, tit for 
tat being wild with jealousy of me, why you being jealous 
also, with his hot temper, would have been wilder than he 
and said sharper things. He is not so deliberately calcu- 
lating, nor can he ever become so dreadfully angry and re- 
morseless as you, Tom. He will flame up suddenly, but 
his fire is out before yours has begun to burn. Now ho 


OLD AXTHOXY’s secret. 


67 


intended no slight to me ; hut was too angiy witli you to 
feel at all comfortable walking by your side. He gave 
you a thrust at parting of course. But those who win can 
afford to laugh at the darts of the enemy and their desper- 
ate efforts, when they are signs of their weakness and of 
your victory.*’ 

“You have a Machiavelian head for plotting, Alice, and 
perhaps you may realize your hope. I desire your happi- 
ness, but I " 

^tna was boiling. Balford started away from his sis- 
ter’s side abruptly, and when he reached the farther end of 
the piazza was gesticulating wildly. He drew his ready 
revolver from his sidepocket where he always carried it, 
raised his iron arm, and a ball went whistling directly 
over old Hampton’s head and buried itself in the front 
gate post. 

“Lord love you, my favorite, did you done took Colonel 
White’s head faw a turkey buzzard ?” Balford made no 
reply. He thrust the pistol back in his pocket, put his 
hand to his forehead, and returned to his sister's side. 

“Turkey buzzards, dar’s two kinds. One keeps de air 
clar an dc oder de Ian. Ef it warn’t faw dem boff dis 
country would go to de debil an become a howlin wilder- 
neff, shuah ! Dey bofl* black and mighty ugly critters. Dey’s 
bofl' despised and lib on de poorest kind ob pervisions, yah, 
yah. Dat's so,'’ soliloquized Hamp, and went on with his 
weeding. Alice paid no attention to her. brother’s eccen- 
tric action, but proceeded with her remarks as if he had 
never left her side. 

“There’s a quarrel now, which may end in the fulfill- 
ment of my hopes. Should you challege him, however, 
she would blame herself, and in her efforts to prevent it, 
effect a reconciliation. So you see you must give up all 
thought of fighting him, whatever he may do or say.” 

“Very well } ou may consider him excused for this time. ’ 

“Thanks. Yon know I think him brave, handsome and 
loveable. Now, if you please, we will go in to breakfast 


68 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


which has been waiting some time.” Slie led Tom into 
the house. 

^‘De buzzard,” began Hamp as he straightened himself 
up with his hand full of weeds. “De buzzard am always 
ho veriii round near de house a watchin what’s goin on. 
He snuffs de trouble in de air. He sees whar it be and 
clars it out ob de way. Yaw, yaw, haw, he I See ef Col. 
Wade Hampton White don’t put an eend to dis foolishneff. 
You’s barkin up de wrong tree faw de coons, my dallins,” 
and Hamp went through sundry gesticulations and pro- 
ceeded slowly with his work. 

An ingenuous school-girl might have written just such 
notes as Alice shortly prepared for delivery to John Elcott 
and Minnie. 

Wallingford House, Aug. 25th. 

To THE Chevalier John Elcott — 

Sir Knight : — You will not have forgotten the geranium 
leaf which you begged of me as a favor on yesterday, and 
promised to wear in your hat until it was quite withered 
and dead, to do battle with anyone who should challenge 
it, and above all to obey my behests if honorable, liowever 
unreasonable, when accompanied by a leaf of the same 
which you will find enclosed. Consider, therefore, that 
my commands are on you. Sir Knight, to be present by 
seven of the clock p. m., this evening. Be it known to 
you that I have sent an urgent invitation to la Minnie, 
who will hardly fail me 1 suspect. Your tyrant, 

Alice. 

To Minnie: — You must come and spend the evening 
with us ; Mr. Elcott will be here. I shall send my saddle- 
horse, by Tom, for you. No refusal, mind. 

Lovingly, &c., Alice. 

They are not always the most dangerous looking weap- 
ons that prove the most destructive, so much depends upon 
the manner of use. 

Hamp straightened himself up at intervals to effectively 
deliver to the winds some new thought upon the subject 
uppermost in his mind. 

“Lawd bress yo pretty white face. Honey. De ole buz- 
zard snuff de taint in de aiah. Tings is drefful mixed, 




OLD Anthony’s secret. 


69 


tings is dreffnl mixed an dey’ll get wuff and wuff ef dey 
don’t done be straightened out soon.” 

Time out of mind, before the war, the Balfords had 
owned blacks. They were chattels, and being chattels they 
were not supposed to hear or see anything undcrstandingly, 
or if they did they were assumed to have no tongues to tell 
of it, or if they should tell of it, it could only be to each 
other for no master was ever supposed to listen to the gos- 
sip of his slave, or believe if he should listen. The war 
could not change this relation which the former master 
bore to the former slave. Hence Alice and Tom Balford 
did not consider or care whether old TIamp was within 
ear shot of them or not. But Hamp had his favorites in 
the village, his special “chillen,” for whom he manifested 
the greatest consideration. I don’t know whether it was 
for the same reason that a hen exercises herself over a 
brood of ducklings or not. I know that Hamp listened 
eagerly and kept his old eyes alert. 

“Dars Mars’r Gautier, an Mars’r Elcott, and Mars’r Bal- 
ford (Golly, I don’t like dat shootin iron), and Miss Min- 
nie and Miss Alice, dey’s all got mixed up drefful shootin 
crosswise, an some of ems under cover an ain’t shootin 
fair. Specs ole Hamp ’ll have to try an set yo right 
chillen, though I ain’t done quite understan all de signifi- 
cations ob de abrasions ob de businctf, he, he, he,” and 
Hamp continued to grin and titter as he proceeded to 
finish the tlower bed. Der’ll be a debil ob a time Ise 
afoered.” 

^Tlampton, 1 want yon,” called Alice from the front door. 

‘‘Ycf, my honey dallin. I’se comin immediate, but I’ll 
hev to wash my haiis fust. Ole Hamp kin git you a sub- 
scription, my favorite.” 

“For which I shall be much obliged. What is it?” 

“Wy, my rosebud ef yo keep de bans alius clean an de 
tongue likewise, dar won’t neber be much de matter wid 
de heart. Ef der war no lyin nor stealin ob no kind dis 


70 OLD Anthony’s secret. 

world would be a miglity nice place faw white folks to 
lib in.” 

^‘And black folks also, Hampton.” 

“Wall, I don knoAv, Honey, bout dat. Pears like der’s 
a heap of dem darkies would be mighty oncomfortable ef 
dey warn’t ’lowd to steal and lie a little. Ef der brains 
war swelled up a little wid eddication it niout be different. 
Ise be dar in a minit, dallin,” and Hamp bent down and 
slap23ed his hands together and put on a broad grin as he 
passed round the corner out of sight. He was back again 
in a few moments. 

“You are not able to read, Hampton, I sui^pose,” said 
Alice as she handed him the enveloi^es. 

“Wy, Lawd bress yo soul, honey, oh course I kin read, 
but not des yer, naw de books, but I kin read de signs. I 
kin tell from de way de wind blows ef deys a storm comin, 
and I kin read de performances ob de squirrels ef dey specs 
a hard winter an a heap ob tings in natur. Its de same 
likewise wid folks, dallin. Dcy’s alius giben out some 
signs which dey don lie ef you read em right — S 2 )ecs de 
writiii do sometimes?” 

“Yes,” said Alice, and she looked at Hamp a little sus- 
piciously. 

“Whar am I goin wid dese yer, my favorite?” said 
Hamp disarming her suspicion. 

“To the village. There’s no hurry ; you can take your 
time going and coming.” 

“Yes, Honey. Dar don’t ’pear to be nuffin in em.” 

“That’s true, here are the letters. This one is to Mr. 
Elcott ; put it in that envelope. And this one is to Miss 
Minnie Brock ; 2 >ut it in that envelope. So you’ve put 
them in ; you don’t have a large correspondence I see from 
the sign, as you say. The letters would slip in easier if 
you had.” 

“AYy, my dallin chile, you’se right. ’Sides ef I had^ 
when a man is gone down de perclibity so tur as ole Hamp 
its time, dallin, to gib up all correspondence on dis yearth, 


OLD Anthony's secket. 71 

and begin one up yander,” and Hamp’s eyes followed his 
hand as lie pointed impressively to the sky. 

‘•That’s true. Noav be careful to do as I tell you. Take 
these first to Miss Minnie. She will know which is for 
her, and you afterward take the other to Mr. Elcott. Its 
an invitation to him to come here and spend the evening. 
See,” said Alice, opening the one addressed to Minnie, “it 
contains a geranium leaf.” Then she put it back and gave 
it to him. llamp took off his hat, made a most humble 
salaam and started. 

“Dey's got trouble a hatchin in dey insides dese letters 
Tse alcered. My rosebud hesn’t many i^rickles on de stem, 
but Ise mighty Teered she has a worm at de core, suah. 
Yaw, yaw, ha, he. Dat’s so.” 


CIIAPTEPt VIII. 

IT UECOMES APPARENT TTIAT ANTHONY CONTEMPLATES RE- 
VENGE, FOR SOME CAUSE YOU DOn’t KNOW WHAT, AND 
UPON SOME ONE, YOU ARE NOT SURE WHO. HE PAS- 
SES THROUGH ONE OF THE GREAT TRIALS OP HIS LIFE. 

Notwithstanding the efficient provisions Anthony Grater 
supposed he had made tor the jireservation of his hoard, 
the attempted robbery assured him that with a little more 
care and expedition on the part of the robbers he would 
have been deprived of it. His better judgment as well 
as his fears counseled him to make a safe investment of at 
least a large portion of it. That it would prove a matter 
of grave concern to Anthony Grater how he should invest 
so large a sum is unquestionable. But he was accustomed 
to drop in at the office of the Clerk of the Court, who 
was also County Clerk and recorder of deeds. From that 
gentleman his inquiries solicited a world of information 
concerning the financial standing and needs of many men 


72 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


in the county. The information lie gave Judge Ernest Free 
was thus obtained. But why a man so fearful of loss 
should decide to invest in the Balford notes, with the 
almost certain assurance of a lawsuit to enforce the lien 
they constituted uiion the Mathews’ place, rather than in 
land with a clear title, will appear in due time. He had 
told Judge Free that he had a friend, a very great friend, 
who would lend Mr. Mathews the money. In this An- 
thony Grater could not be charged with falsehood, since 
he was thoroughly of the opinion that he was by odds his 
own best friend. It is an error of judgment very com- 
monly entertained. 

Mr. Mathews, it will be remembered, was that reckless 
man of bad habits mentioned by Mr. Anthony Grater as 
the one who had become wasteful, and who in order to 
escape the loss of his property had deeded it to a relative, 
who had made it over to his second wife and to her chil- 
dren, to the exclusion of the child of his first wife. That 
child was Mi-s. Bartholomew Sawyer. . He had afterwards 
gone into bankruptcy and shaken off his debts by a dis- 
charge. Thereupon his daughter by his second wife. Miss 
Lizzie Mathews, had deeded back to him for the purpose 
of sale to the Balfords. He had invested immediately in 
land which had also fallen one-half in value as had that 
which he had sold to the Balfords, upon whom he de- 
pended for the money to complete the purchase he had 
made. It was this man whom Anthony Grater seemed 
anxious to save from ruin by the failure of the Balfords 
to pay their notes. Wliy, is answered farther on in my 
diary. Now, it so happened that on the day following 
Anthony's visit, the holder of Mr. Mathews’ notes brought 
them to Judge Ernest Free to be sued upon. He was of 
course informed by the Judge that they could be collected 
without suit. As intimated by xVnthony, it was Mathews’ 
day for coming to the hamlet, and thus the high contract- 
ing parties were brought together in Judge Free's office — 
improvidence and parsimony face to face, the latter as 


OLD ANTHONY^S SECRET. 


73 


lender, the former as borrower as usual. Indeed, time out 
of mind, they have fed each other and have been each 
other’s bone, so that it is difficult to say which has the 
the worst of it. For while improvidence grows poor by 
exhaustion, parsimony always taking back more than 
it gives, so [)arsiniony which is the soul of poverty without 
its necessities or body, grows poor by rexdetion. James 
Mathews and Anthony Grater were of about the same age. 
The fornun* was watery eyed, soft, flabby and -wrinkled, 
blown up like a bladder, the latter hollow eyed, hard, sin- 
ewy almost fleshless, seamed and. shrunken. The former 
had feasted on too much, the latter starved with little and 
as I have said, it was hard to tell who had had the 
worst of it. 

When the subject had been introduced by the Judge, 
Anthony Grater remarked : 

‘*1 have known you a long time, James Matliews. It 
wmuld be hard on you, at your time of life, to lose your 
property, and I’ll buy the Balford notes, at their face, James 
Mathews ; but they must be made safe — I say they must 
be well secured.” 

“Of course, they are well secured. Balford has been 
disappointed in getting the money, but he’ll have it before 
the second note becomes due. lie has jiaid twenty^ thous- 
and dollars, and land that cost thirty-four thousand is 
surely good for tiftcen thousand dollars.” 

“Its not wbrth more thnn eighteen thousand dollars, 
.Tames ^latlunvs, not more than eighteen thousand dollars, 
and 1 don’t kno-w whether they are a good lien on it or not 
— I say, I doubt it.” 

“Oh, they are made a lien on it — there’s no question about 
that. On the -word of a gentleman, if they are not paid, 
when the second one becomes due. I'll pay them myself,” 
recklessly promised the improvident man. 

“And what will you pay them with — I say, where will 
you get your money, James Mathews ? ” inquired the par- 
simonious man. 


74 


OLD ANTHONY'S SECRET. 


“Oh, I’ll have means by that time, or at the worst I can 
put a mortgage on my place for it,” said tlie improvident 
man, already executing a mortgage on the future. 

“You can mortgage it now to secure them as well — I say, 
you can do it at once,” replied tlie man of parsimony un- 
willing to accept the mortgage in futuro. 

“Well, what do you want? I’ll secure them in any way 
you please,” said the man of improvidence willing for any- 
thing that would release him from his present dilemma. 

“I’m afraid they are not a good lien — you both deeded 
to Balford before your ward was twenty -six years old, 
and the Judge will tell you there are doubts — I say, they 
are not safe, and they’ll have to be sued upon. I’m getting 
myself in trouble, and I’m putting so much money that I 
have been saving for titty years into it to save you James 
Mathews. I’ve a mind to drop it — I say, I’ve a mind to 
keep my money.” 

I’ll give you any security you wish, Anthony.” 

“He’s not going to pay the notes — I say, he can not get 
the money, and you can’t secure me against the troubles 
of a lawsuit.” 

“But I can against the expense of it.” 

“Very well, James Mathews, I’ve known you a long tiine^ 
and I’ll save you — I say. I’ll buy the notes. But you shall 
pay otF this man’s lien on your place, and give me one 
upon it to secure the whole or any part of the Balford notes 
which I fail to collect, and the expense attending the col- 
lection or attempt to collect them, including attorney’s 
fees — I say, the lawyers’ charges.” 

“Its a bargain — Judge you fix up the papers.” 

“At your expense — I say, at your cost,” said Anthony. 

“Yes, at my expense. So that’s settled, and its my treat. 
Will you come and take something, Anthony, the Judge 
never drinks. Come.” 

“How much will it cost to treat me — I say, how much 
will you have to pay ? ” 

“Ha, ha, ha! Not much, ten cents.” 


OLD ANTHONY S SECRET. 


75 


‘‘And it wouldn’t do me any good — I say it would be 
thrown away. I’ll take the ten cents and buy what I please. 
I don’t drink liquor — I say, I don’t care for it.” 

“Very well, treat yourself.” And improvidence handed 
parsimony ten cents. 

“When the papers are ready — and be sure they are right. 
Judge Free — I say, make them strong and safe — you can 
bring them over to my house, and I’ll have the money 
ready — I say. I'll have it counted.” 

“I do my business in my office, and I’m not going over 
to your house when I’ve completed the papers. Xo, sir ! ” 
said the Judge emphatically. 

“How long will it take you to get them ready — I say, 
how long ? ” 

“Perhaps an hour and a-half,” said the Judge. 

“I’ll bring the money — I’ll bring it in an hour and a 
half. Thirteen thousand dollars — its a large sum, a very 
large amount, the savings of lifty years, ail in one invest- 
ment. I'm afraid I am doing a very foolish thing.” And 
Anthony hesitated, as if he would yet rue his bargain 
before it was too late. 

“The Willis farm makes it perfectly safe ; but the day 
of Judgment might come, on which occasion there is ex- 
pected to be a dreadful commotion, which might turn the 
farm upside down, and jeopardize your security, so per- 
haps you had better take a day or two to consider, ha, ha ! 
Yes, you're safe enough,” said the Judge in his good hu- 
moredly sarcastic manner. 

“I have made up my mind — I say, I've determined,” 
said old Anthony. From the office he went direct to his 
hovel. He had made up his mind, but it is by no means 
certain that Anthony Grater, careful man though he was, 
had counted all the cost. His treasure was to him as his 
life, aud it cost him quite as much pain to place the one in 
jeopardy as the other. Compared with his yellow pieces 
in possession, no lien could be so strong as to appear alto- 
gether satisfactory. Whatever the value it represented, a 


76 


OLD ANTMON^y’S secret. 


frail thing that a tongue of flame could lick out of exist- 
ence. As he i)^ssed it between his lingers, he would 
experience no rapture ; when he would toss it into the 
compartment that he had robbed of its gold in order to 
efiectits purchase, it would not give back the old time 
music to his ear. In the Court House would be kept , a 
copy of his lien ; but the incendiary’s torch or a defective 
flue might reduce the old wooden structure and all its con- 
tents to ashes in an hour. A lien in lieu of his gold was 
quite as uncomfortable a burthen to Anthony as it was to 
the i^arty whose title and possession it threatened. Through 
fear of robbery it seemed he was prompted to invest; but 
there were acres to which he might obtain a clear title 
take possession of and call his own. There was some 
strong motive, therefore, for selecting the Balford notes. 
He went from the office to his hovel to undergo the great 
trial, fight the fiercest battle of his life. When he entered, 
he bolted and barred the door behind him. He provided 
himself with sundry things he should require, and lantern 
in hand went down the trap door and closed it, took down 
the ladder and wended his way through the cavern. He 
passed over his narrow bridge, and perhaps never thought, 
so deeply was he absorbed, of the two men, who had not 
more than thirty hours before, lost their lives for a greed 
far less intense though more dishonest than his own. 
He hid the board, elevated the ladder and mounted to his 
paradise. He went slowly, even stealthily. He felt like 
a robber. He had come to steal his own treasure — to rob 
himself of what had been a source of increasing delight 
for fifty years. Thousands of times had he ^beeu there to 
indulge in felicitous worship, but never with such traitor- 
ous thoughts as now. He had borne always an ofiering 
to his god, but now he had come to strip it of its vesture 
and jewels, of nearly all its wealth of beauty, as though 
it were no longer divine. It was heinous sacrilege, and he 
knew himself guilty. When he had unveiled it and 
brought its glittering beauty into view, 'he felt that it was 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


77 


mean to offer as a propitiation for so gross an outrage the 
little silver coin that he had received from Mr. Mathews 
Yet he tossed it in and lay down beside his deity. Pie 
would give it honest worship for a little before^ Judas likc^ 
he betrayed it into their hands who would no longer re- 
gard it with veneration. Thirteen thousand was over two- 
thirds of his treasure, and indeed it appeared only a little 
less than all. He laid down beside it, and adjusted his 
lamp so that its full light fell upon it. Hero I need the 
pencil of the artist; no pen so weak as mine can paint this 
picture. It streamed over the old man’s head and face, 
and his hand thrust in among the gold, but his body and 
all lying without the small circle of light lay in impene- 
trable gloom. Save by his own breathing and the occa- 
sional bell-like tinkle of of a water drop the eternal silence 
was unbroken. Plis eye lightened, and the harsh stern 
look melted out of his face, as though dissolved like Avax 
in the condensed light of the lamp, and become remoulded 
into an expression of almost saintly rapture with a subdu- 
ing element of sadness in it. When he had taken up a 
handful of the small gold coin a few times and alloAved 
it to flow jingling into the box, even this passed away from 
his face and left it glowing with childish animation. The 
habits of thought and action that had been indulged for 
half a century took full possession of Anthony Grater and 
banished for the time being, all remembrance of the object 
of his coming, of the sacrifice he had imposed upon him-- 
self. After he had extracted the modicum of joy they 
yielded in bulk he began the customary counting of his 
coins. The bank teller would have regarded it as a tedi- 
ous business, and the tinkle of the pieces as they fell upon 
the growing pile would have become monotonous to him. 
Not so to Anthony. Its very length that told of numbers, 
and the uniformity of sound that told of purity were the 
moving essentials of his delight, so that he would have been 
content to keep on counting to the crack of doom, if life 
might hbst so long, and happily forgetful of all earthly ills, 


78 


OLD AXTIIOXY S SECRET. 


pass joyously into tlie realms of spirit, whatever disap- 
pointments might await him over the border. Thus the 
miser was joyously electrified hy the gold that tormented 
liim with fear. Perhaps if the delights and sorrows in the 
lives of each of us were all enumerated and their intensity 
justly determined, the accounts would more nearly bal- 
ance than we think. AVe underrate our enjoyments and 
magnify our griefs. The counting ended he was about, 
in conformity with habit, to put it awa}', Avhen he remem- 
bered tor what lie had come. Instantly joy flitted from 
his soul and his features lengtliened. Ih; lay still and 
looked mournfully down upon his eagles. There was not 
a bird among them he had not time and again caressed. 
Noav, they Avere to take to themselves Avings and fly away. 
They were the bulk of his wealth and thirteen thousand 
dollars Avould Avell nigh exhaust the compartment. lie 
took one between his thumb and finger, and his hand 
trembled so under the dreadful thought of separation that 
he could scarce retain it. lie let it fall again among its 
fellows, and regarded them for a time Avith sad and silent 
thoughtfulness. His mind traA-elled mournfully OA^or the 
years that had fled. Nearly all that there had been of de- 
light in them had been experienced on that spot, and had 
mainly floAved from that very compartment of his box in 
Avhich they rested. He Avas about to deliberately dry up 
the fountain. He sighed deeply. It was like blotting out 
the sun from the firmament — he was about deliberately to 
extinguish the light of his soul. When the eagles Avere 
gone, the gloomy compartment would be tull to overflow- 
ing Avith myriads of regrets for Avhich he had exchanged 
them. And he kucAV that on every visit for years to come, 
perhaps, he Avould be forced in agony to count them as 
faithfully as he had enumerated his eagles. As the fear- 
ful prospect of so gloomy a future grew upon him, he be- 
gan to realize that he had not counted all the cost. Again, 
he sighed heavily and dropped the second eagle he had 
taken between thumb and finger back upon the pile. He 


OLD AXTIiOXY S SECRET. 


79 


raised the cover of the box to close it — it was not too late 
to rue. But he had given his promise, and they were 
waiting — would be seeking him soon at liis hovel. The 
fight had been raging internally. The worshipl’iil passion 
had expended all its energies, and his deity would have 
continued to reign supreme in his soul, had not another 
passion come forward to struggle for the mastery. The 
contest now raged with uncertain results, lie let down 
the lid of the box, with which he was about to shut up 
his treasure, and exclaimed : — 

“The villain — I say, the monster ! The double robber ! 
He shall see it in possession ol* its rightful owner, and 
himself a beggar — I say, in rags before he dies.” 

Then he began to count the eagles, and toss them into 
the empty compartment. But his hand moved more slowly 
each time until it stopped at number twelve, and hovered 
in uncertainty over the box, while he mechanically re- 
peated “twelve, twel-ve, t-wel-ve.” Then he raised it to 
his head and remained silently thoughtful again. 

“1 fear it will cost more than it is worth — 1 say, more 
than it is worth,” and he gathered up the twelve coins and 
put them back in their compartment again carefully, and 
laid hold of the cover once more as if to close the box. 

“But IVe promised, and all the world will know that I 
have the money, and I won’t be able to sleep of nights — 
I say, it will destroy my rest.” 

He allowed the cover to fall back again, and began 
recklessly to count them out — more rapidly than he had 
ever done it before. “Fifty-three, fifty-four, tifty-five, 
fif-ty-fi-ve, fif-ty-fi-ve — I have forgotten how many — I say, 
I’ve forgotten, I’m not sure,” and he put them all back in 
their compartment, and began more slowly. 

“One, two, three, four, fi-ve, six, sev-eu, eight, ni-n-e, 
t-e-n, e-l-o-v-e-n — eleven, that was eleven — I can’t — I say, 
its impossible !” and he laid hold of the cover once more 
and resolutely closed the box. But he didn’t stir from 
iiis position. He sighed again and placed his hand upon 


80 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


his brow. He lay quietly for some time, his mind racked 
and tortured with doubt and uncertainty, and his muscles 
twitching, in confirmation of the agony it cost him. 

promised myself revenge a long time ago — I say, 
very many years ago. And the time is come, yes, yes, 
its come.” 

Then he opened the box again and began deliberately 
counting for some time. He was somewliere in the hun- 
dreds when he stopped suddenly. 

“I might make myself more secure here. I could bar- 
ricade the opening to this avenue, and defy robbery. Two 

liun-dred and I’ve forgotten how many again. But 

no matter.” For the third time he returned them to their 
compartment, and relapsed into agonizing thought. 

“I am getting old,” he said at length, “and they might 
surprise me — I say, its possible. I should die unsatisfied, 
yes, yes, I promised her fifty years ago — a long time — and 
I must keep my promise — to her.” 

Yet he hesitated. There would be ghosts in the cavern 
to. torment him in the future. Not of the two robbers, 
who had gone to their doom and lay buried in the crevasse, 
but of twenty dollar gold pieces that, their substance de- 
parted, would ever haunt his brain. 

“Revenge is pleasant — I say, its sweet, ha, ha, hal ” and 
he picked up an eagle. But he dropped it reluctantly in 
the empty compartment and counted one. He took up an-^ 
other and it clung to his fingers a long time, but finally 
fell into the empty compartment and he counted two. 
‘Yes, yes, its sweet and I can’t have both — I say, both, 
are impossibilities,” and he counted three. “I will have 
a great deal left — I say, a great deal,” and he counted 
four. Thenceforth he went quietly on until he had told 
off six hundred and fifty, and only a few lay in the bot- 
tom of the eagle compartment. Ho looked at them and 
sighed again. Then he took a canvas bag from his pocket, 
and to make sure that he was right counted them again 
into it. As he closed down the cover of his box and put 


OLD AKTHONY S SECliET. 


81 


it awav, a groan echoed among the angles of the cavern. 
They were waiting ; the battle was over, and he hurriedly 
returned. It was afternoon ; the hours had passed swiftly 
to old Anthony and uncounted. James Mathews had 
spent the time in dread lest the old man should recall his 
promise and refuse the money They were speculating 
upon the cause of his absence and well nigh in despair, 
when lie entered the office abruptly. lie was wheezing 
from his walk, which had been rapid. 

^‘You were fearful I wouldn’t come, and you had reason 
— I say, you were justly so. My judgment tells me that I 
am doing a foolish thing; but I have known you a long 
time, James Mathews, and you are in trouble — I say, you 
are in distress.” His companions wondered if it were in- 
deed sympathy for J ames Mathews that had overcome his 
reluctance to part with his money. If so, the motive enti- 
tled him to their respect. 

^^Are the papers completed,* and are you sure they are 
right, J udge Free ? Read them — I say, read them.*^ 

Thereupon the Judge read the assignment he had writ- 
ten of the Balford notes and the instrument giving him a 
lien, as collateral security, upon all Mathews’ property, 
which was in the name of Lizzie Mathews. 

That young lady was introduced by her father at Mrs. 
Gautier’s. Being in town, and having to execute the mort- 
gage upon her land, she waited there in preference to the 
hotel sitting room, for the reason, perhajis, that Mrs. Gau- 
tier had an unmarried son. While waiting to execute a 
lien upon her estate, she would endeavor to induce the 
young gentleman of Adair to execute one upon his heart 
in her favor, which she would consider an ample equivalent 
and full security for her future happiness. 

“Promise me to come out to Laurel Grove next week, 
and bring your mother. Dear Mrs. Gautier, won’t you 
come ? You can’t tell how often I sigh out there for com- 
pany.” And she left a very warm and delicate hand in 
his palm while she awaited his answer. 


82 


OLD ANTJIOXV’S SECRET. 


‘‘And I have been sighing for permission to come. You 
may expect me, Miss Lizzie, at least,” and he chevalierly 
brought the hand to his lips. 


CIlAPTEl? IX. 

OLD HAMP TRIES TO STRAIGHTEX MATTERS OUT ’aTWEEN 
DE CHILLEN. THOMAS BALFOKD RESOLVES, BUT BIDES 
ms TIME. 

The hoiiey-tongued Colonel Wade Hampton White 
made his necessarily deliberate way to the house of 
Colonel Brock who met him at the door. 

“Good morning, Ilamp,” said the Colonel. 

“Good rnorniu, Mars’r Colonel. I want to see dat lioney- 
suckle blossom ob yous jes a minit, so as I kin circumvent 
de delibery ob a small message, chile.” 

“Hand it to me — I'll see it delivered.” 

“Dat ain’t j is ’cordiu to de ’structions ob de message. 
Colonel, an ole Hamp alius goes circumlocution ’cordin to 
de tention ob de commands. Dats correct ain’t it. Colonel ?” 

“You’re right,” said the Colonel assuming a military 
air in the door way. “Always obey instructions to tlm 
letter. Its the most important requirement to secure suc- 
cess upon the battle field, or j)eace in society. Now, obey 
mine. Eeturn and say that all messages received at this 
fort must go through the hand of the commander in chiefs 
Hamp, the commander in chief.” Then the Colonel lifted 
his cane and gave the order : “About, face, march ! ” 

The Colonel had been a great admirer of Major Gautier, 
and had insensibly acquired his habit of repeating himself 
by way of emphasis. Old Anthony was shrewdly sus- 
p'ected of being the original of both. 

“Golly, Mars’r Colonel, is dem de rule ob de sarvice ? 
Den I’ll hab to come agin, wen de commander in chief am 
away. Yaw, yaw, ha, ha!” And Hamp doubled himself 


OLD Anthony's secket. 


83 


up with laughter and threw his right arm with his old 
hat at the end of it about fantastically. 

^‘Ilalt! ’ cried Minnie, who suddenly appeared in the 
doorway. “Hampton, advance!” Thereupon she took 
hold of the Coloners ear, turned him about, kissed liiin on 
the cheek, and said : “You are relfeved from duty on ac- 
count of incompetency, and you will consider yourself 
for the time being on the retired list.” 

“Spccted dar war some mistake about do rank, Colonel, 
yaw, yaw, ha, haw I ” 

“Mrs. Brock,” said the Colonel to his wife at the further 
end of the hall. “Mrs. Brock can you explain this mys- 
tery ? Here have I been teaching this girl all her life how 
to obey, yet she has been acquiring all that time the trick 
of command, Mrs. Brock, the trick of command.” 

“Who first learn how to obey, know best how to com- 
mand, Colonel.” 

“Ah, you have been givdng her private instruction, 
Mrs. Brock — its a conspiracy to set my authority at defi- 
ance. The Avelfare of the nation depends upon the obedi- 
ence that children render their parents, and wives their 
Iiusbands — the American nation won't last half a century, 
Mrs. Brock — not half a century. Major Gautier and f 
were of the same mind in that regard.” 

“Oh, fie. Pa ! I thought you held to sound democratic, 
principles.” 

And so I do. Miss, and to the Democratic party. Every 
Brock was born a Democrat.” 

“Well, then, having taken their turn at obeying, every 
one is entitled to a turn of command.” 

J ust so, either in the family, social, or political field, or 
in all three if capable. ThaPs sound — I don’t deny thab 
Miss,” said the Colonel. 

“I have been a very obedient little daughter, now, 
haven’t I, Pa?” and Minnie laid her arm on the Colonel’s 
shoulder and looked very meekly into his face. 


84 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


‘‘Until the last year or two, I don’t deny it, but why 
don’t you obey orders now, Miss — why don’t you ? 

“Why, you see, when I get .married bye and bye, I shall 
have to obey iny husband, so this is the only time I have 
to vindicate my democratic principles, and you are the only 
one I can practice on. Pa, so about, face. March I ha, ha, ha I 

“De laurel blossom hab got you fass dis time. Colonel, 
sholy. Lawd bress you soul, my dallin chile, I follered 
all de abrasions ob de idee, an you made a dead shot at 
de Colonel, sho, he, haw ! ” 

“The country will go to pieces in the next generation, 
Mrs. Brock — in the next generation,” said the Colonel 
moving with a military step down the hall and out into 
the dining room where his wife had j)receded him. 

‘‘Take a chair, Hampton. Now, what is the message ?” 

“I’se got a invite in my pocket from de Mathews’ place, 
but yo ’xcuse me, I’se boun to talk to yo, my dallin chile, 
jis a little fo I makes de livery. ’Cause I specs yon’s in 
trubbel. Honey.” 

“What makes you think I am in trouble, Hampton?” 
said Minnie, trying to smile, but failing in the attempt. 

“Wy, chile, ole Hamp picks up a heap misseratin about. 
And he puts all de ’flections ob de events an obstritions 
togedder, an comes to a ’nouncement ob de matter. Ole 
Hamp dreftul ’tatched to yo, my favorite, an yo mudder, 
’cause I rocked her in a sugar trough, I reckon.” 

“I know you are fond of us, Hamp — I’m sure you are.” 

“Jis so. You are correct, dallin. Coarse yo boun not 
to say it none ole Hamp’s businetf, cause I ask wy yo’n 
Mars’r Elcott done been frowin red pepper at each oder I ” 

“Throwing red pepper, Hamp ? ” 

“Jis so, dallin, I done heah de tiger lilly ober yander 
’gratulatin hehsef. Does you git de conspicuity ob my 
remarks. Honey?” 

“I understand you well enough, Hampton. Did yon 
say Alice was talking about it ? ” 

, “She war dat, my dallin chile, an laughin ’bout it. An 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


85 


dey war layin de plan to play de berry debil with boff ob 
yo, Honey, an de plan’s all in dese invites, which I can’t 
diskiver it. Laurel Blossom, ’cause yo know ole Harap can’t 
read. But de trick ob it is in dar inards somewhar, sho.” 
He thereupon handed her the letters. 

“This one is addressed to me.” 

“Is it, chile? Jis wait a minit. Hamp felt the letter 
and discovered it was the one containing the geranium 
leaf. “Then I specs yo better read dis one fust.” 

“But that is directed to John, and I ought not to read 
that, you know.” 

“ ’Xactly, my dallin chile, but de letter in dis one is faw 
him, an de letter in dat is faw yo. I begin to feel de 
sicumference ob de circle ob de trick. Honey. She specs 
yo’ll read only dis one. I specs yo’ll read de contents ob 
dat fust ? We’ll go pig headed anyway, chile, so’s to abraid 
de flection ob her ’tention.” Thereupon Minnie followed 
instructions and read the invitation to herself which was 
addressed to Elcott. 

“How very lovingly she addresses me, deceitful thing I 
when she is trying all she can to injure me. I don’t blame 
her for loving John Elcott — how could she help it? But 
she needn’t pretend to like me at the same time.” 

Jis so. Laurel Blossom; how could she help it. His 
’tractions are mighty powerful, sho, an deflects the eyes 
ob all de gals on hiself. Wall, now, yo mought read dis 
one out loud, ef yo please, Honey Dew, so’s ole Hamp kin* 
hoah — de fox as is to steal de chickens is hid in dar, sholy.” 

I’ll tell yo what comprehensin I hab, dallin, from dat 
ar billy doo,” said Hamp when she had read the invitation 
to Elcott. “She’s fix up dat bunktious name an dat gera- 
nium leaf business all afo'timeto make you mad, dallin, 
so you’d hurt yoself — cause that’s what some folks alius 
do wen dey get mad. Xow, I tole yo what to do. Laurel 
Blossom, yo’ll jis go pig headed an don’t done git 
mad at all.” 

The tears were in Minnie’s eyes ; but the ludicrous idea 


86 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


of offsetting anger by obstinacy got the better of her, and 
she burst forth, like an April sun through the clouds, into 
a torrent of laughter broken only by a half formed sob 
at intervals. But she set her teeth together and dispatched 
Hamp with the following : — 

At Home, Adair, Aug. 25th. 

Dear John: — Come up this evening. I have been in 
error and just discovered it. Minnie. 

When Hamp had explained in his peculiar manner the 
difficulty so that Elcott got an inkling of the true state of 
the case, the latter at once concluded not to throw any 
more red pepper. But when a knowledge of the petty 
conspiracy, as Hamp obscurely presented it, dawned upon 
his mind, his thoughts took on a sanguinary hue. There- 
fore he wrote to Minnie : “I will come, darling.” And to 
Mr. Thomas Balford: “You are a scoundrel.” Four words 
each, and very expressive both, but of such decidedly con- 
flicting emotions, that it is a wonder how the heart har- 
bored them both at the same time. He jumped from his 
chair and repeated the last message: “Yes, you are a 
scoundrel ! ” 

“Look heah, chile, dat won’t do. Lawd bress yo soul, 
Honey, ole Hamp’s tryin to put yo chillen all straight, an 
dat billy doo would mix up de businefi drefful bad an 
make a debil ob a ’sturbaiice.” 

“I expect you are right, Hamp,” said John Elcott when 
he had taken a little time to cool. 

“Ob course Ise right, chile, I alius is. I tole yo what to 
do, yo ’xcuse me.” 

“I wish you would, Hamp, for I positively don’t know.” 

“Wy, chile, jis you write to Rosebud an say, Ise a pre- 
vious invite, Honey, an cawn come, dats a fac. Dar ain’t 
no use a fightin about nuffin, my favorite. Yo alius git 
hold ob de right eend ob de stick when yo keep yoseff 
cool, chile. Mine what I tole yo.” Thereupon John 
Elcott v/rote as follows : — 

“Your chevalier, so-called, regrets that a superior alle- 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


87 


giauce, and prior engagement have forestalled your com- 
mand, which otherwise would have^ been obeyed with 
alacrity. Respectfully, &c.” 

The matter was not destined to end so happily as the 
watchful old negro had hoped, for that evening when 
Minnie and Elcott were in the parlor in the very midst of 
an explanation, the servant announced Mr. Thomas Bal- 
ford in waiting and presented his ^ard. Minnie felt that 
she had been injured, and was not unwilling to cut Mr. 
Balford, if for no other cause, on his sister’s account. She 
was a very earnest, honest, loveable girl, but several de- 
gress removed from saintship. She, therefore, hastily 
wrote on the back of Mr. Balford’s card, a request to be 
excused for that evening, as she was otherwise engaged. 
Visiting cards were not known in the hamlet until the 
arrival of the Balfords, but it behooved a Balford to 
omit no form of ceremony, or strict requirement of eti- 
quette. The hamlet might possibly adopt the ways of the 
Balfords, but certainly a Balford could not be expected to 
confoi’in to the ways of the hamlet. When, therefore Mr. 
Balford received back his own card, with an ‘‘excuse me,” 
on it, and heard Mr. Elcott laughing within, he was ter- 
ribly enraged, and for a Balford to be terribly enraged 
meant terrible things. 

‘‘Did you have a pleasant time last evening, brother? ” 
was the first question asked by Alice in the morning. He 
took the card from a vest pocket and turning it over pre- 
sented it to her without comment. 

“How engaged ? And jmur card returned ! ” 

‘‘She and Elcott were laughing together in the parlor, I 
dare say, at your artifice as well as our failure.” 

“Well, she has shown more discretion than I gave her 
credit for. She thought the matter over and invited him 
to a reconciliation. His note to me I don’t interpret into 
absolute defeat as yet. He has not quarrelled with me, 
and men are fickle creatures, all except my brother when 
he makes up his mind to be naughty.” 


88 


OLD Anthony's secret. 


it is uaug’lity to vindicate his name and manhood 
from reproacli, you are right, sister. When I permit any 
man to insult me with impunity I’ll change my name — I’m 
not worthy of it. There is no hope for you in that note 
nor foi me either. You will waste your smiles ,which 
were better given to Nat Gautier.” 

. When he left the breakfast table and went out, she knew 
from his manner, as well as if he had uttered it in words, 
that he had resolved to challenge John Elcott. She thought 
when he ordered his horse brought to the front and mount- 
ing him went of at headlong speed, that he had gone to 
solicit the service of a second and would probably select 
the Gentleman of Adair. In this, however, Alice was 
mistaken. His anger Avas not of the kind that suddenly 
cooled, and his resolution once formed Avas one that AVQuld 
keep He bided his time. He had resolved to permit 
Alice to play out hei role AAuthout his interference. He 
remained distant and ceremonious to John Elcott, and Avas 
polite and affable to Minnie Brock. He kncAV that he 
could stir John Elcott to anger at any time, and carry out 
his resolve Avheu he Avished It was several days later 
Avhen he called for his horse and dashed out of the gate 
in the midst of a pelting storm, and Alice knew more 
surely that he had challenged John Elcott, 


CHAPTER X. 

ANTHONY SITS BA' AN UNAIARKED GRAVE. HE DOES 
STRANGE THINGS, AND UTTERS STRANGE WORDS. 

A storm^ that had been raging until afternoon, suddenly 
ceased, and about two o’clock the sun burst forth Avarm and 
bright. The dry earth had rapidly absorbed and the sun 
sucked up the moisture, so that by three o’clock, save that 
the grass and foliage were fresher and greener and the 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


89 


dusty paths compact and damp and more grateful to the 
feet, its evidences had vanished. Old Anthony Grater, who 
liad suddenly become more careful of his health than 
formerly, and who had consequently kept himself housed 
until then, emerged from his hovel and pursued liis cus- 
tomary way to the hamlet. He made his customary halt, 
and took his customary seat on Mr. Bartholomew Saw- 
yer’s hewing block. Mollie, who was usually engaged 
among the blocks and shavings of her lather’s work-shop, 
was attaching the most curled and attractive of the latter, 
to Pop’s head for ringlets, and constructing out of the 
former an endless number and variety of tenements for 
Pop to live in. They were the first efforts of her appren- 
ticeship to that art and mystery, in which bright eyed 
Hoi)c, our instructress, finds us one and all such precocious 
and untiring pupils of building “castles in Spain.’’ When 
Anthony entered, she remarked : — 

“Pop, dranpa Antony has turn now, so oo must sit still 
and be dood ’till I turn back — then I’ll put a roof on oo 
house and make oo a nice parlor — so be dood, I say,” and 
she skipped across the shop to Anthony. 

“Well, and how are you to-day, Mollie Sawyer — I say, 
are you well to-day ? ” 

“I is very well, tank oo. I is much obliged to oo, dranpa 
Antony, tor at dollar oo dive me. Mama tole me to tank 
oo, cause I fordot it befo.” 

“Well, then, don’t you si)end it — Isay, you must keep it.” 

“What will I do wis it en, dranpa Anfoiiy ? ” 

“Why, keep it, Mollie Sawyer— -I say, keep it.” 

“What for ? ” inquired the child. It was by no means 
an easy question for Anthony Grater to answer. To the 
man who was yet acquiring wealth as a means of happi- 
ness the answer would come pat enough : “You will need 
it for a rainy day.” But Anthony, to wliom it was not the 
means but the end of happiness, answered. 

“Because you will always be glad to know you have one 


90 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


and you will regret it when its gone — I say, you will be 
sorry Avhen you’ve spent it.” 

“It depends a heap on what she spends it for, whether 
its only for grander or use, Anthony. Look at them gilt 
ornaments, es folks will have on their coffins jis to kiver 
them up with dirt. They’re all for a few minutes’ gran- 
der — don’t do no good.” 

“She can’t spend it for anything that will last longer or 
keep brighter than itself, you fool. You haven’t half the 
sense I thought you had — I say, you have less judgment 
than I thought you had, Bartholomew Sawyer.” 

“I never set up to hev much ” Said Bartholomew Sawyer 
smilingly. “Ilows’ever it don’t make no difference ; I don’t 
reckon she’ll ever have much to spend in foolishness.” 

“You don’t know that, Bartholomew Sawyer, I say, you 
can’t predict a future for her.” 

“No, I don’t know, but the chances are that way.” 
Meanwhile Mollie had taken off the old man’s hat as usual, 
and having selected a number of the longest and most 
symmetrical curls from among the shavings, had formed 
them into a wig upon his bald head, thereby successfully 
demonstrating that things, beautiful in themselves, may 
be so arranged and associated as to become grotesque and 
ugly. With old Anthony’s grim and forbidding visage 
beneath them, they no longer resembled curls but became 
emblematical of snakes. A sight of him in the twilight 
would have struck terror to the heart of an imaginative 
Greek, who would have skulked away in fear of being 
turned into stone. But Mollie was very familiar with the 
Medusa, she had made, and he seemed so grotesque that 
she jumped up and down and clapped her little hands and 
laughed, exclaiming : 

“O, draiipa Anfony, oo look so funny.” 

With restless desire of change, the child took them off 
and replaced his hat. She looked at him a moment inquir- 
ingly, and asked : 

“Dranpa Anfony, where is oo heart?” 


OLD ANTHONY'S SECRET. 


91 


“My heart? Its a strange question— I say, its a strange 
inquiry She is of a very inquiring mind, Bartliolomew 
Sawyer, and slie’ll turn out somewhat better than her 
parents — I say, she’s brighter,” and Bartholomew smiled ; 
he was used to Anthony’s manner. “My heart is here, in 
the left side — I say, here under my ribs.” 

Mol lie placed her hand where he indicated, and iu- 
qiured further, ‘^llas it drowed, dranpa Anfony — has it 
dot big?” 

“Hannah Sawver — I say, Hannah Sawver, come here! ” 
shouted the old man, and when she left her work and 
thrust her head in at the door, he continued : 

“What have you been saying of me in the child’s 
hearing?” 

“Nothing I am unwilling to say in yours, Anthony,” 

“Well, then, go back to your work, go back and mind 
your business — I say, I don’t want you.” The good 
woman laughed and returned to her occupation. The old 
man knew they had been saying, that since he had been 
straightened out and given it more room, his heart had 
become larger. In this, however, they may have been 
mistaken, although a dollar given to Mollie was a large 
sum on which to base their calculation. 

“What wood lasts longest in the ground, Bartholomew 
Sawyer — I say, which lasts longest ? ” 

“Red cedar, I reckon,” answered Bartholomew. 

“I want a piece of red cedar — I say, I need a piece.” 

“What size ov a piece do you want, Anthony ?” 

“About six inches square, and three feet long, and sharp- 
ened at one end — I say, pointed at one end, and smooth on 
one side. Have you got such a piece, Bartholomew Saw- 
yer — I say, can you supply me ?” 

“Here’s a piece of fence post. I kin git it outen this, I 
reckon.” 

“And how much will it cost, Bartholomew?” 

“Its worth mighty little.” 

“How much — I say, how much ? ” 


92 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


^‘Nothing,” replied Bartholomew smiling, and beginning 
to saw off a piece the required lengtlu 

‘^You can’t afford it for nothing — but it isn’t worth 
much that’s a fact — not a great deal.” 

“What do you want it for ? ” inquired Bartholomew, 
when having sharpened and smoothed it to the old man’s 
liking he handed it to him. 

“Mind your own business, though I don’t mind telling 
you — I say, I don’t mind. Its to mark a small piece of 
ground I bought a long time ago — I say, a good many 
years since.” 

Old Anthony took the stick mechanically, and looked 
absently down on the floor. He never moved for some 
moments and Bartholomew, as he went on with his work, 
heard him mutter once more — “Yes, yes, a long time.” 
Then he arose as if to go, and the stick on his lap attracted 
his attention 

“I want my name on it — I say, Anthony Grrater, I want 
on this side. But stay, the initials will do, A. G., cut 
them out with a gouge, Bartholomew — I say, carve them 
with a chisel.” 

When it was completed to his satisfaction he arose ab- 
ruptly and left. While Bartholomew cudgeled his brains 
in order to remember what piece of ground old Anthony 
had bought a long time ago, the latter wended his way up 
to the little graveyard on the mountain side. He seated 
himself on one of the crude headstones to rest, and sup- 
porting his chin upon his palms, remained there a long 
time. 

“Yes, yes, some one might claim it, andl want to be the 
nearest to her when she wakes — j^es, yes, the nearest. I’ll 
put a curse upon them if they bury me otherwheres — I 
say, I’ll put it in my will.” He arose once more and 
searched until he found a stone that suited his purpose, 
and with that and the cedar stick in liis arms went to a 
retired quarter of the graveyard beneath a cedar tree and 
laid them down beside a grave — a nameless grave, whose 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


93 


location a crude slab of limestone only marked. On the 
left, as he stood looking toward its foot, were other graves 
and one in close proximity, but on the right there was a 
vacant space. About three feet from the headstone old 
Anthony fixed his pointed stick upright, aud with the 
heavy stone pounded it into the now softened earth, until 
it remained firm enough to defy his efibrts to move it. 
When his work was completed he sat down upon the 
low fragments of rock that marked a contiguous grave 
and communed with an invisible presence. 

“They’ve well nigh forgotten Avhere you rest, Mary. All 
but Anthony — I say, all but I. Twenty summers ago I 
planted the cedar. Its a slow grower, but its a fine one 
now and shapely. You were Ibud of its shade — so dense 
you said, and its fragrance ; you see I remember it all — all.” 
The old man fumbled for a little in his pocket, and drew 
forth a small package of paper from which Avhen he had 
unrolled it, he took a geranium flower and sprig. 

“You were fond of geraniums, and I keep them for you 
always, yes, yes, always.” He looked carefully around 
and doAvn on the village anxious not to be seen, and went 
over and placed it reverently at the head of the graA^e, 
dropping onto his knees beside it. “Who do they think, 
I Avonder places flowers on your grave, Mary — I say, Avho 
do they imagine ? Its thirty years and they must have 
seen them — I say, they must. They’re careless to notice — 
they come but seldom, do you say ? Ah, I knoAV you are 
not in the earth, Mary, but you can see and listen, and you 
put it into the old man’s heart to ansAver for you. You are 
glad I am straight again ? Yes, yes, I can lie straight in 
my grave beside you. I’ll not seem old Avhen I have put 
ofi* the old body, you say ? Yes, yes, the spirit remains 
young. I have your voice in my ear yet. I have per- 
suaded myself that you still live, yes, I say, we don't die. 
We are something difierent from our bodies — I say, we are 
independent of them, are we not, Mary ? Yes, yes, you 
have told me so often. I can’t see your incorruptible 


94 


OLD Anthony’s secuet. 


body, our gross vision is limited to gross forms of matter. 
Yes^ that’s what you tell me, and that’s correct — I say, its 
true ; but with the soul’s eye, the imagiuatioii, I see you 
sitting by my side crowned with your virtues, and in great 
glory — I say, in resplendent beauty, yes, yes. But when 
I put on my incorruptible body I shall have a material eye 
to see you in spirit, fingers that will feel the touch of your 
hand, and an ear that will hear your voice, as you hear me 
now, Mary. But it will be many years yet — I say, a long 
time, for I have much to do — a very great deal to accom- 
plish before they place my body beside yours.” Then he 
sat quietly for a long time and mused, living over again 
through that inscrutable mystery of mind, that gag in the 
mouths of materialists, for which no possible function of 
matter by analogy or otherwise can account, the record of 
memory — living over again, I say, the experiences of long 
years that had gone, and looking forward along those that 
were to follow until he had filled full the measure of his 
days and Time, the grim old warrior, shonld wrest the last 
one from his grasp, give it into the hand of Eternity, and 
end the struggle. I have seen hijn sitting there, and won- 
dered what his thoughts might be, I never could 
have guessed. But at the last he revealed all, and 
through the Gentleman of Adair, they have found their 
way into my diary. 

“Yes,” continued the old man, “I have much to do be- 
fore I can clasp you, Mary, in a sensible embrace, and we 
walk once more over the paths we trod together in youth 
— I say, in the old time. Revenge, yes, revenge ! If I 
could blot him out of existence, I would do it — I say, I 
would do it. He must associate with other spirits less 
pure than yours. Don’t say a word against it, Mary — I 
say, don’t you do it — its justice. Let him wander in a 
strange country. Love won’t bring him back, ha, ha ! He 
had none for you — I say, he was heartless. But I must 
go — I say, good-bye! I don’t know what may happen 
when I’m away from home. My sight fails me, I once 


OLD ANTHONY S SEOliET. 


95 


could 8ee my lioiise from here, but its blurred and I 
can’t watch it; but I’ll come again, never fear — I say. I’ll 
be here again, often. You need not come — I say, its a 
gloomy place I live in, it would be to yon, and I don’t want 
you there — I say, you had better remain.” 

The anxious thought of his treasure drew him rapidly 
■ away from the graveyard. He had, however, business to 
attend to by the way. He came down into the hamlet and 
entered the office of Judge Ernest Free, carefully closing 
the door behind him. 

‘TIow are you to-day, Ernest Free? — I say, liow do you 
find yourself to-day ? ” 

“I’ve nothing to complain of, Anthony, in particular. 
A batchelor escapes so many of the evils of life, that he 
ought to be content to endure the head or backache oc- 
casionally, and say nothing about it. I suspect I should 

be perfectly happy just now if it wasn’t for . There 

do you hear that ? ” and the Judge stamped his foot on the 
floor and shouted : “Stop that hellabelloo down there I By 
blankl You, Tom and Mart; I’ve stood your noise for 
eight years, and by the Everlasting its got to stop, or you 
or I one must get out of this !-” There was a momentary 
hush, during which the Judge continued. I say, if I 
didn’t have to endure hell above and hell below. 
It used to be all serene above when Mrs. Myers had a rag 
carpet on the floor ; but the old man and she have made 
a trade. He has taken her parlor for a shoe shop, and 
she has taken his shoe shop for a parlor. He’s too deaf to 
hear his own noise, and when he’s not thumi^ing away 
and jarring the whole house, some one is shouting at him. 
Sec, there. Grater, how the plaster is cracking and giving 
way.” 

“Yes, yes, I see,” said Anthony with indifierence. He 
had no sympathy in the Judge’s troubles, but drew forth 
the Balford notes from his pocket saying : — 

“Sue on them at once, Ernest Free — I say, don’t let a 
court pass.” 


96 


OLD Anthony’s secret.. 


“You may come in tomorrow and swear to the petition,” 
said the Judge. 

“I will be here — I say, I will not fail.” And Anthony, 
without further coloquy, went out of the door and pur- 
sued his way homeward, 


CHAPTER XI. 

THOMAS BALPORD. FIRST, HIS CODE, NEXT, HIS SISTER, 
LAST, HIMSELF. VERY PECULIAR. “l WILL HOLD POS- 
SESSION OF THE BALFORD MANSION WITH MY LIFE.” 
AN OUTLINE OP THE SCIENCE OP DELAY. 

Judge Free’s letter demanding payment of the notes had 
been received. Mr. Thomas Balford with it in his hand 
was walking back and forth on the piazza muttering and 
gesticulating. He was evidently digesting its contents 
and maturing his plans. Alice was by his side. Her brow 
was clouded. The old adage had been vindicated. 
Troubles never come singly. Ever since the purchase of 
their home, she had beheld the storm-cloud, now about to 
burst, in the distance, and its shadow had rested always 
upon the farm since the happening of a ruinous event of 
which Thomas Balford was the victim. The money that 
had been paid, twenty -one thousand dollars, was her share 
of the paternal estate. Tom had invested his at some time 
previous in a speculation in hogs. It appears he had gone 
into partnership with certain men to purchase largely on 
time, for which he had given his notes endorsed by friends. 
These notes while yet negotiable, were transferred to an 
unscrupulous attorney, as he alleged, who was in league 
with his partners to defraud him. Certain it is that the 
code of honor, by which as a gentleman of family, he felt 
himself bound, made it necessary that he should expend 
every dollar of his patrimony in order to save the friends 
who had become his sureties^ from loss, and it is also cer- 


OLD ANTHONY'S SECKET. 


97 


tain that ho realized nothing from the speculation. The 
partners,- whom he charged with fraud, made haste to hide 
tliemselvos away and he proceeded to administer justice, 
after his own manner, to the attorney. Meeting him upon 
the street he charged him with the practice of villainy. 
The attorney unfortunately placed his hand upon his hip, 
as if about to draw forth a weapon, when Thomas Balford 
knocked him down with his cane and beat liim. Then set 
him upon his feet, and not l)cing able to induce him to eii- 
gage in a more deadly encounter, took from him tlie pis- 
tol which he carried and sent him home. It is also a fact 
that, from whatever source the attorney obtained his 
wealth, it failed to serve the end of securing to him any 
measure of happiness. Whether from the beating he 
then recciv^ed or from other causes he went blind and 
afterwards died miserably i)oor. It is probable that with 
this i^atrimony thus suddenly lost to Thomas Balford, he 
intended to complete the purchase of their home. His 
peculiar opinions, therefore, we may assume, were not 
purely fantastical, but based on experience. The compli- 
ment of a pedigree is an establishment. A pedigree suf- 
fers mightily in the respect of tlie Avorld without it, and 
indeed eventually good blood, without it, ceases to respect 
itself and dies out. No wonder the brow of Alice Bal- 
ford was clouded, and her brother walked the piazza in a 
state of intense excitement. When Mathews told Anthony 
Grater that Balford would pay the mortgage notes when 
the second and last one became due, he knew he was stat- 
ing an untruth and so did Anthony. Balford had de- 
manded a recision of the contract, and refused to pay 
tJiem. He gave the same reason therefor, that after liis 
excitement had subsided he communicated to Judge Free 
by letter in reply to his, and which he returned to that 
gentleman by Ilanip. It reads as follows :-t 

To Judge Ernest Free — Respected Sir : — I have long 
ago refused to pay the balance of purchase money due on 
Ibis place, and have frequently asked for a recision of the 


98 


OLD Anthony’s sechet. 


contract, for the very sufficient reason, as you must see, 
tliat I have no legal title. It is not possible that I can 
receive one until Mathews’ daughter is twenty-six years 
of age. Supposing on reaching that age she should con- 
vey to some one else. I could then have no title at all. 
That, sir, is my view of the law, for which I have small 
regard, but it is stronger than I. Meanwhile, because the 
title is unsound, and all lawyers say so, 1 am unable to 
raise any money upon it, I am, therefore unfortunate in 
being tied hand and foot, but the justice of my jmsition is 
apparent, and until that is meted out to me, I will defend 
the action which, I presume, you are about to begin, and 
hold possession of this })lace against all comers with my 
life. I am, respected sir, very truly yours, &c., 

Thomas Balford. 

Alice and her brother were in the same room when he 
wrote the letter. 

“I am sorry Free is engaged on the other side — he is one 
of the few lawyers I feel like trusting. There are Springer 
and Foxine, but they can both be bought.” 

“For goodness sake, Tom, employ at the outset men on 
whom you can rely, or there will be trouble. You know 
you are so decided in your opinions, that if matters should 
go adversely ” 

“T understand what you would say, sister, but I have 
reason for my low estimate of their integrity ; I will find 
one who won’t betray me if I can. There is no uncertainty 
about the case. All the lawyers agree that she could not 
give Mathews a title to land, which is not hers, until she 
becomes of the required age fixed by the trust^ — but there, 
you don’t know anything about law.” 

“I’m very much afraid, brother, the decree of Fate has 
gone forth to deprive us of everything.” 

“Sister, rest easy, give yourself no concern,” he said, 
raising his hand as if in solemn adjuration. “I promise 
you here and now, that this shall be your home so long as 
you live, unless I die, or we obtain a recision of the 
contract ! ” 

There was one being whom Tliomas Balford loved 


V 


OLD ANTHONY'S SECRET. 




unreasoningly, and therefore truly and devotedly. It 
was his sister Alice whom he placed before himself and 
considered next to what he termed his honor. 

“But there are many quirks and turns in the law, and it 
is proverbially uncertain,” suggested Alice. 

“There, my sister, I say our case is clear. Don’t fret 
yourself now, about it. It will be years before it is 
decided.” 

“Years, brother ? ” 

“Yes, years. Did you think it would be decided to- 
morrow ? The constitution of this advanced common- 
wealth declares that justice ought to be speedily admin- 
istered, but those same quirks and turns you speak of arc 
so unlimited, that what with petitions and answers, and 
amended petitions and answers, aud demiirrers,*and mo- 
tions, they won’t reach an issue for a year. Then when 
the Circuit Court has decided, an appeal is taken to the 
Supreme Court. Several months elapse, and it goes 
through the mill there. At tlie end of six months more 
it is back in the Circuit Court again. The highest expo- 
nents of that admixture of law and equity have perchance 
said that the Court below erred in not permitting one of 
the parties to file some paper, or give some testimony that 
might have had some remote bearing on the case. Then, 
new evidence of little moment, perhaps, is discovered, and 
they begin to amend the. pleading, and make their motions 
again, and in two and a-half years they are ready for the 
trial once more in the Circuit. But then it is discovered 
that the case contains a collateral question of fact for a 
jury. The leading issue goes to sleep, while this one is 
tried in the next court, and goes up on exception to the 
Supreme Court. They grind it and send it back in an ex- 
ceedingly fine and sublimated condition. The Court erred 
again in the phraseology of some instruction to the jury 
and they try it over again. At the end of three years and 
a-half or four the issue of fact is finally determined. Then 
they wake up the main issue in Equity again, which is set 


100 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


for hearing at the next term, say four and one-half years 
from the beginning. Meanwhile, all who have any possi- 
ble interest in the case at present or in jiituro, directly or 
indirectly, have been made parties. Oh, it will be settled 
for good when it is settled.” 

‘‘Four years and a-half, that's a long time, brother. They 
must be all glad when its over, and contented with having 
escaped with their lives.” 

“Over! Why, my simple sister, they have only fairly 
begun. When the Court calls the case, up pops an attor- 
ney and suggests the death of one of the parties. How 
could they all be expected to survive the wear and tear of 
four and a-half years of it. His heirs inherit the cause 
along with his property. It is continued to the next term 
to bring in the new parties. They come and enter heart- 
ily into the amusement. It is then the discovery of new 
and important testimony in the issue of fact is announced, 
and a motion for a trial cle novo is made and argued. The 
court has become tired of the fun, and overruled the mo- 
tion. Up it goes again to find from the Supreme Court, if 
the refusal of the Court to grant a trial of the issue of the 
fact de novo was not an exercise of unsound discretion. If 
the superior oracle declare it error, except with the accumu- 
lation of a bushel of papers, they are where they started, 
nothing has been decided ; if it endorse the judge below, 
by affirming his decision, why they are just where they 
started, all the same, with the exception of that fact, and 
six years and a-half at the least calculation have passed 
away.” 

“Oh, how tired the litigants must become ! ” exclaimed 
Miss Alice. 

“Tired ? That does not express the nature of their feel- 
iugs, and suggests nothing of their situation. They were 
tired four years ago. They are utterly disgusted now 
with law and equity, and before and after every meal and 
at night, if they are religious persons, they put up the 
brief petition ; “Eeb'eve us, O Lord I from our x^resent un- 


OLD ANTIION'Y’S SECRET. 


101 


fortunate condition, and if it be consistent with Thy good 
will, never permit that we shall be forced to enter a court 
house again. Merciful God, let this cup pass by us.*’ No 
wonder they pray. Several years ago the original prop- 
erty was all eaten up in fees. Some of the litigants have 
moved out of their mansion houses, and mortgagees, or per- 
haps a lawyer or two have moved in. Their credit is gone 
among merchants and business men. Several of the 
mothers wear a thimble now on the middle finger, which 
they incessantly apply in making and mending, chiefly the 
latter, frocks and coats and pantaloons for the little ones, 
whom old time pride struggles to maintain respectable. I 
say incessantly, save when she takes it off to wash the 
dishes and clothes and scrub the floor. Tired, yes, they 
are ruined and in despair, in pursuit of that cheap and 
speedy justice, which the fundamental law of the com- 
monwealth says ought to be rendered.” 

“Its a dreadful thing, the law, brother! And so that is 
the end.” 

“End, you foolish creature. Nothing of the sort. They 
have been at it only six and and a-half years and it is not 
decided. They are not quite through with the prelimi- 
naries. But the lawyers are growing a little weary. They 
say there is not much money left in the case. Do you 
remember how my two pointers used to play last summer 
with that old racoon skin. One would shake it as if it 
had a dozen lives tor be extinguished. Then the other one 
would get it away from him, and almost throw his head 
off in a prolonged effort to shake it to pieces.' Next, they 
Avould seize hold of either end of it and pull and tussle 
and growl to get possession. You remember how they 
kept it up day after day until it was torn to shreds, and 
then how their ardor gradually cooled as they utterly de- 
stroyed the object of friendly controversy. I say the law- 
yers are weary when the case is called at the end of six 
years and a-half. But one of them on looking through 
the bushel of documents discovers an important paper or 


102 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


two, upon which he expects to rely in argument, missing. 
Nobody knows anything about it. Since they have sev- 
erally had the handling of them for six and and a-half 
years, as they accumulate, it is a wonder there are not more 
of them lost. A day is given for the search and the case 
goes to the foot of the docket. When it is called again, 
near the end of the term, it has not been found, and he 
moves that a commissioner be appointed with powers to 
summon witnesses and take testimony, and supply the 
missing paper, at the next term, and the cause is contin- 
ued. That is seven years gone, and the commissioner pre- 
sents the testimony of conflicting attornies as to what 
facts the missing x^aper, perhaps a finally amended answer 
to a finally amended i^etition, put in issue. Without that 
the Court is unable io determine exactly what it is to try. 
As the main case, as it now stands, has never gone by ap- 
peal through the higher judicial mill, this part of the rec- 
ord has never been copied and there is none extant. In 
order that strict justice may be done the parties, there is 
only one way out of the dilemma. The Court, perhaps, 
orders the x^arties to x>leael de novo, and the cause is con- 
tinued. Seven years and a-half from the first, the case is 
again called. The death of one of the lawyers is sug- 
gested, and another one is sick and unable to attend Court. 
They are a courteous profession and the cause is contin- 
ued by consent. But the court declares that the issue 
must be made up by next term. The several defendants 
are given until thirty days before the next term to file new 
or amended pleadings, and the Court says further, tliatthe 
case must go otFthe docket, a strange remark for the Court 
to make, since they have, so to speak, just got on to the 
docket again.” 

“Oh, dear ! Surely no one knows anything about what 
they are quarreling over by this time.” 

“O, yes, they do. The whole matter, my simple sister, 
is as clear as crystal to the lawyers, who have kept in view 
the main issue of the case all the time. At the end of 


OLD AXTFIONY’S SECRET. 


103 


eight years tlie several suitors who came into Court on the 
first term with heads erect, confident bearing, and defiant 
expressions on their faces, dressed in broadcloth, and wear- 
ing gold watches in their pockets, now gather in .wearing 
patched jeans coats for holliday apparel. Time has be- 
(ioine an empty void, and they find no use for watches to 
mark its flight. It affords no bright promise for the fu- 
ture and they do not care to note its progress. The heads 
are turning gray of some of them, the fire of hope has 
died out of their eyes, and dead ambition no longer mani- 
fests in energetic bodily action. Their chins droop upon 
their breasts. The Court-room is an Inferno in their 
thoughts, the bickering couns«fi so many grim spectres 
whose arguments reach one conclusion, if no other, that 
condensed into one single sentence reverberates forever in 
the chambers of their souls, Justice has robbed. Justice is 
starving me I” 

‘‘Tom, Tom, its a dreadful picture you are drawing,” ex- 
claimed Alice again. 

“Yes, but then they are nearly ready for the Court to 
try the case. Eight years and a-half and the case is called 
once more and submitted. For several days there is a 
touriiameut of tongues, and judgment is rendered. Then 
when one of the unfortunate litigants is prepared to as- 
sume the smile of a victor, though his victory is barren, 
notice is given of an appeal. It must be ground again in 
the su})erior mill. One of the unfortunate litigants 
squeezes out his last pittance, a few hundred, to have the 
record copied, which makes a volume of four hundred 
pages. In nine years the case is in the Supreme Court^ 
and ill nine years and a half it is back in the Circuit once 
more. If the judgment is affirmed, that is the end ; if not 
it goes on indefinitely. Yet the cause of difference could 
be set forth in a dozen lines, for example : A father dies 
and his will declares — ‘I bequeathe to my wife and chil- 
dren all my property real and personal. They have one 
child. The widow marries again, and has another child, 


104 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


then dies. The questions arising are these : Does the 
eldest child take all the property, or does the younger get 
one-fourth ? Has the second husband a right to occupy 
any portion of the estate as tenant by the courtesy, and 
what proportion of the rents and profits go to the elder 
child from the first husband ? Before a properly consti- 
tuted tribunal, the agreed’ statement could be made in 
twenty minutes, and final judgment be delivered in as 
many more without cost. Yet 1 know that very case has 
been five years before the tribunals, and not yet decided.” 

‘T shall never be able to endure such a controversy, 
brother, and you may prepare my coffin. To be in such 
horrible dread for so long is a fearful thing to contemplate, 
for to a Balford, Tom, death is preferable to the humilia- 
tion, and distressful poverty that I see about us.” 

‘‘True, but a Balford will stand up for his rights, and 
brave the devil himself to maintain them. Come, sister, 
courage ! We have possession, nine points in law, and the 
tenth is ours by right. Humiliation and poverty we will 
not, at the worst, be called upon to survive for a long time. 
Should they approach us, then will be the time to deter- 
mine, as Balfords, by the exercise of the soundest philos- 
ophy under all the circumstances, whether we ought to 
submit. Rest assured, if by legal villainy you are de- 
frauded of this, the world shall try your cause. There, 
my sister, put on your sweetest smiles and regard this 
action, while it proceeds, as a mere romance, which can 
have no ending that can bring evil to us.” 

Thomas Balford placed his arm about Alice and kissed 
her. He had almost ilispeiled the shadow from her proud 
heart, so far off' had he placed the phantom of poverty. 
And yet, early the next morning, this man insisted ui^on 
fighting a duel, the result of which for aught he knew, 
would leave her defenseless in the world, in the midst of 
this trouble. First, his code, next, his sister, last, himself. 
Something to denounce, something to admire, and some- 
thing to wonder at as being very peculiar, Thomas Balford. 


OLD Anthony's SECiiET. 


105 


CHAPTER XII. 

UNDER THE CODE. AN AFFAIR ARRANGED FOR AT LAST. 

GOD BLESS YOUR WHITE SOUL, HAMP. 

Thomas Balford had found occasion and excuse to carry- 
out the resolution lie had postponed. He had prepared a 
challeiige at last for John Elcott. It read as follows, and 
Nat Gautier was the bearer of it under promise to Alice 
that he would try and prevent it. 

John Elcott — Sir : — At the conclusion of our last meet- 
ing, you took occasion to say of me, that, “so gallant a gen- 
tleman is his sister’s best protector, and perhaps her best 
adviser, for liis precepts in love affairs may be better than 
his practice, if in the last few hours I have seen them ex- 
emplified,” by which you implied that I had in some man- 
ner acted dishonorably in a quarter where you deemed 
yourself particularly interested. The charge is false and 
slanderous, and 1 demand an aimlogy, or satisfaction. 

Yours, &c., Thomas Balford. 

“You have an idea what it is about, Nat, I reckon. Well, 
a few days since, because I did say something sharp I sup- 
pose, perhaps those very words, I don’t remember, I would 
have given him an apology. But what I have discovered 
since, renders it impossible. I should undoubtedly have 
called him a scoundrel had I known. Besides, Nat, this 
fellow is playing the bully. No one but a bully would 
have treated poor Jim Little, who had no thought of being 
rude to Alice, as he did. And wore I Jim, when I got 
around again, I should treat him to exemplary damages. 
I can answer his note without further consideration,” and 
John Elcott seized a pen and wrote as follows : — 

Sir ; — I am sorry to say that facts have come to my 
knowledge, which convince me that my words implied less 
than the truth. You are a scoundrel, for whom I have 
no apology. My friend will meet yours to arrange mat- 
tei.g, ^ John Elcott. 

“For Heaven’s sake, John, don’t send him that. Can’t 
the matter be settled. I’m willing to conspire with you 


106 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


myself, and run the risk of a leg to bring it about.” 

^‘Ha, ba, ha! You are a queer second. Give me your 
hand, old boy. Nat, you and I have been playmates, school- 
fellows, brothers.” 

“And still are and shall continue to be,” said the Gen- 
tleman of Adair, and the two friends pressed eacli others 
hand. And old Hanip, with a very serious countenance, 
clapped his hands and exclaimed : “Amen ! chillen. Amen I” 

“You have never been jealous of me, Nat?” 

“Never! ” replied Nat, and placed his arm on his friend’s 
shoulder. 

“Nor have you had any reason to be. She has had me 
in her eye, Nat, not in her heart. And she should not 
have held me there so long, if I had not been loth to quar- 
rel with one whom my brother desired for a wife,” and 
John threw his arm over Nat’s shoulder. These two young 
men had a warm affection for each other, and the occasion 
was a trying one to both. 

“But now, Nat, he will probably hit the center, and so 
shall I, then she will need a protector, and I will be out of 
the way.” 

“And poor Minnie ! By the Eternal, John Elcott, this 
can’t come off, and it shan’t ! Minnie can’t spare her lover — 
I won’t lose my friend ! ” 

“Poor Minnie! 'Nat, you should not make me think of 
her. We fixed it all up last night, and set the day.” 

“And yo mudder, what I nussed, who better den all de 
rest lubs de Mountain King,” said old Ilamp from the 
corner. 

“And my mother ! ” Then a tear sprang into John El- 
cott’s black eye. 

“Impossible, John, impossible! ” and the Gentleman of 
Adair took out his handkerchief and applied it to his blue 
ones ; they were swimming too, for his own mother came 
into his mind, whom he was to lead the rest of the way 
down the mountain. And the memories of all his moth- 
er’s love and tenderness, her pride in her magnificent boy, 


OLD ANTHONY'S SECllET. 


107 


and her thousand daily acts of self-sacrifice, rushed over 
John's soul like a wild torrent, and he repeated so softly 
lovingly — “My poor mother I His tears, no longer 
restrained, overfiovved and dropped on the hand of his 
friend who held his own. They Were brave young men, 
both of them, and what was better, they were morally 
brave enough not to be ashamed of the tears they shed on 
account of their mothers. But the vindication of honor 
by the shedding of blood, was a sentiment that brooded 
like a miasma in the moral atmosphere and crept into the 
souls of thousands of the best and noblest. Even Elcott 
could not resist that. Ilis moral bravery could not resist 
being called a coward. 

“I tole you what, chillen,” said Hamp from his corner. 
“Ef yo make up de account, an don’t bring de balance on 
de sides ob yo mudder, dars someting wrong in de fig- 
gers, sho.” 

“What can I do, Nat ? ” 

Before the Gentleman of Adair could answer, the door 
opened and Colonel Brock entered. After placing his 
dripping umbrella in the corner he said : — 

“Good morning, Nat! You are just the man I want; 
some one to help prosecute a rogue for a felony of the 
most heinous character, and that manifests the basest in- 
gratitude — the basest ingratitude, Mr. Gautier. I trusted 
him fully, and he betrayed my confidence by robbing me 
of the most valuable, except Mrs. Brock, of my household 
treasures — the most valuable. But, perhaps, the rascal 
has told you all about it, and engaged you to defend him ?” 

“Yes,” said the Gentleman of Adair, unwinding his arm 
from his friend’s neck as he arose, and bestowing upon 
the Colonel one of his exquisite bows, “Yes, and in my 
heart I have congratulated him upon his fortunate acqui- 
sition. I sympathize with you in your loss, which must 
seem light, however, when you consider that your treasure 
has fallen into the next best hands to your own. She is 
safe in the hands of my friend 


108 


OLD ANTHONY’S SEOKET. 


‘Who dare do all that may become a man ; 

Who dare do more is none, is none.’ 

While he will have the satisfaction of knowing — 

‘A father at the nuptial of his child, the guest that best becomes the table. ’ ’ ’ 

“Egad, Mr. Gautier, you are cut out for a courtier. Your 
place is at the Court of St. James. No one can get ahead 
of you in compliment, and I shall not try — I shall not try. 
But I believe you have not flattered John. If I had 
thought otherwise, I should have barricaded the fort, Mr. 
Gautier — barricaded the fort. I am glad you and John 
are friends and hope you will always remain so. The next 
best thing to a good wife and dutiful child is a warm 
friend. Your father and I were friends from boyhood. 
Stick to each other, youg gentlemen — stick to each other.” 

“I am grateful to both you and Nat for your compli- 
ments because I know that friendship suggests them. I 
have a difficult matter to determine here. Colonel, and as 
Nat says, am ready to do in the premises all that may be- 
come a man, when some one has decided for me what that 
is.” And John laid Balford’s challenge and his reply be- 
fore him. 

“I shall have to request you to act as my friend in the 
matter. Colonel. Natyiidertook it for Balford in the hope 
of settling it. I shall not apologize, for more than I told 
him I believe is true, nor can I permit him to brand me as a 
coward. He is a dead shot and perfectly confident of his 
aim, and lam determined that he shall have no advantage 
from that, so you can fix the distance at two paces. Then 
if he don’t flinch from the conditions, I suppose there is 
no help for it.” 

“Oh, Lawd lub yo, chile, dat’ll neber do. Mars’r Colonel, 
gib ole Hamp a chance to stan atween de fire. His ole 
bundle ob bones ain’t wnff* noffin no how no mo, if dat 
will gib satisfaction. Cause dars de dallin laurel blossom, 
an his mudder what I nussed — ^I’ll jis hab to help dig der 
grabes.” 


OLD ANTHONY'S SECRET. lOiJ 

*‘God bless you, Hamp,” exclaimed John, seizing the 
old negro by the hands, ‘‘God bless your white soul ! ” 

Dar, dar, chile, it ain't nuffin. Ole Hamp’s pretty near 
de eend ob de row anyway. ’ 

“Young gentlemen,” said the Colonel, “I have been 
watching that man for a year, and I am satisfied that he 
is a lunatic. He has a mania for killing, but it wears the 
garments of chivalry, Mr. Gautier — the garments of chiv- 
alry. Egad, I was in just such a difficulty as this with a 
sane man, and your father acted as my friend. The affair 
came off with nobody hurt, my boy — nobody hurt. We 
will fix it the same way now. This is Mr. Elcott’s answer 
to Mr. Baltord. YerygoodI The conditions under the 
code are in your hands and mine, Mr. Gautier. I will ap- 
pend them to this — the choice being mine as acting for 
the challenged party, Mr. Gautier.” The Colonel there- 
upon wrote as follows : — 

“Conditions: Twelve paces, pistols; one pistol loaded^ 
the other a blank charge, both capped ; to be placed un- 
der a cloth by the friend of the challenged party ; first 
choice to be made by the friend of the challenger; but 
one fire, whatever the consequences ; time, six o'clock to- 
morrow morning ; place, five miles east of Adair on the 
site of the old mill.” 

“Now, if your man accepts, Mr. Gautier, you will oblige 
by bringing your father’s brace of derringers over to my 
house this evening, and we’ll see that they they are prop- 
erly charged, Mr. Gautier — properly charged. You* can 
go on with your business, Mr. Elcott, and give yourself 
no further concern, my son, no further concern.” And 
the Colonel relapsed into silence. 

“If you will Avait twenty miuutes. Colonel, I can see 
Balford and be back again,” said the Gentleman of Adair; 
and the Colonel waited. The code did not permit any 
Balford to object to the conditions. Although it left the 
matter to chance that could make a target out of only one 
of them, yet the chances Avcre even, and precedent had 


'110 


OLD Anthony's secret. 


settled the conditions as legitimate. A Balford held 
himself to be bound by x^recedent. 

‘^And the weapons ? ” inquired Mr. Balford. 

“We have selected my father’s derringers.” 

“And you will see to the loading yourself? ” 

“Certainly, we shall load them in each other’s presence ; 
but both being my friends, it is a disagreeable duty, and 
I had hoped the matter might have been otherwise 
settled.” 

“Well, the conditions are not such as I exx^ected, and as 
are usual, but being equal, as the challenger I must accept, 
I presume. You may expect me, sir.” And Mr. Balford 
bowing to his second, mounted his horse and rode home. 

Returning, the G-entleman of Adair rex^orted his ac- 
ceptance. 

“Very well, then,” said the Colonel, “ have the kindness 
to go home, and get your derringers in good ortler. Clean 
out and oil them, and bring them over to my house. In 
the matter of stirring about, old age has a right to demand 
a little sacrifice from youth, Mr. Gautier — a little sacrifice 
from youth.” 

“And it is no sacrifice at all, sir. Young feet can not 
be better employed than in performing those offices re- 
quired of them by old heads, since their own often leads 
them into trouble.” 

“Egad! that’s good x^hilosophy, and the more to be won" 
dered at that its against the grain of your youth, Mr. Gau- 
tier — against the grain of your youth. But you are 
your father’s son and we were great fi-iends, the Major 
and I.” 

After dinner, accordingly, the two seconds proceeded to 
load the pistols, first with powder. Then the Colonel 
handed the Gentleman of Adair a ball. 

“Tut it in one of them, Mr. Gautier.” 

“But,” said the Gentleman of Adair, hesitating. 

“You must insert the ball yourself, so that you can tell 


I OLD Anthony's secket. Ill 

your blood-thirsty principle, that there could be no mis- 
take about it.” 

“Fm afraid that ball will enter the body of one of them, 
and I thought there was some way to avoid any possibility 
of bloodshed.” 

“You have said I have the elder head, Mr. Gautier — the 
' elder head. They are loaded now. Step into that room 

aud get my pistol casd down for me.” 

, The Gentleman of Adair did so. 

! “Now, sir, I place the pistols in here and lock the box 

■' which you will take home, while I retain the key. You 

; can testify that you loaded one Avith a ball ; I can say you 

, could not unload it for I hold the key. That will be all 

it is necessary to affirm when the affair is over and nobody 
hurt. Good day, Mr. Gautier.” 

“Good day, sir, but I am not so sure that nobody will 
be hurt,” said the Gentleman of Adair. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE MAN OF DESTINY IS CONTENT WITH LITTLE SLEEP. 

DREAMS AND FANTASIES. THE GHOST. 

Thomas Balford appears to have recognized nothing su- 
perior to himself save destiny. On that, as all his actions 
indicated, he relied 'in perfect confidence, ready to accept 
without a murmer its decree for good or evil, life or death ; 
a fatalist. The forthcoming duel took its place among the 
ordinary events of Thomas Balford’s life — something with 
which to charge his memory lest it might be forgotten, 
not as a thing to be excited over, far less alarmed about. 
He went to his room and recorded in his diary, as matters 
to be attended to tomorrow. (1) Six a. m. Affair of 
honor. (2) Put hands to repairing stone fence. (3) Roof 


112 


OLD ANTHONY^S SECRET, 


of sheepfold out of repair. (4) Kill some quail for Alice 
— she is not looking well.” 

This indifference to momentous and uncertain results^ 
one would conclude should have enabled Thomas Balford 
to sleep well. Nevertheless such was by no means the 
case. Alice, on the evening preceding the duel, was quite 
unwell, and had gone to bed early ; but her sleep was fit- 
ful and broken by the tones of a familiar voice. It was 
the voice of her brother at midnight, in earnest conversa- 
tion. A dark figure moves along the hall and taps lightly 
at her door. 

‘Ts that you, Sarah?” inquired Alice. 

‘‘Yef, Miss Aliff. I spec you can’t sleep daj:, cause Massa 
Tom’s been walkiu de flow dis two hours an talkin like 
mad, so I jis made a little fiahin de front bedroom, to take 
off de chill, an specs you better come in dar.” 

“Thank you, Sarah, you are thoughtful ; I will,” replied 
Alice to the faithful servant in a whisper. Rising in 
her nightdress, she was lighted into the other apartment. 

have a slight fever, Sarah, and don’t sleep well, or it 
would make no difference.” 

“Yef, Miss, I specs Massa Tom ought to sleep somewhar 
else. Bars somefin drefful in dat ar room. Miss.” 

“O. nonsense The room wonld make no difference with 
Tom.’ . 

^‘Does you know all about dat ar room. Miss Aliff? ” 

^‘Yes, I suspect I’ve heard all about it — at least all I 
care to hear about it You black people sit in the dark 
together so much, indulging in ghostly fancies, that you 
people every locality with spectres It was the same way 
in Woodford,” said Alice as she got into bed, and Sarah 
arranged the pillows for her head. 

Ise only dis yer light, an Ise afeerd to go past dat room 
in de dark, dats a fac.” 

^‘Well, mix up one of those Dover’s powders, and place 
it and the water on the stand where I can reach them. 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 113 

' then you can take the light, you timid creature. Tom will 
be in a sound sleep by and by.” 

Thomas Balford always slept in a very dark room — he 
would have it no other way. Perhaps it was because day- 
light was often near when he fell into the profound repose, 
of which I have heretofore spoken. On this night he had 
not been more than fifteen minutes in bed, when he slowly 
arose to a sitting posture in the midst of the gloom and 
muttered to himself: ‘‘There’s that woman rocking her 
everlasting cradle again.” He listened tor some time in- 
tently, and all being quiet laid his head again upon his pil- 
low for a few moments, when he once more assumed 
a sitting posture. Tlie noise of a heavj’’ cradle rocking 
back and forth incessantly in the middle of the floor, not 
ten feet from his head, would disturb a man of family, 
however used do it, and it was anything but agreeable to 
Thomas Balford, the batchelor. 

“Madam,” said he aloud. “Will you give me the atten- 
tion of your highly sublimated ear for a moment?” 

Sir, did you speak to me?” inquired a lady in a white 
nightdress rising into view in the vicinity of the impalpa- 
ble cradle. 

“Yes, I make it a point always to be courteous to ladies ; 
its an important part of my code.” 

That is well, sir, and manly in you. We are the weaker 
Bex.” 

“In one sense yes, but your power to annoy us is un- 
limited. I say I desire to be courteous to a lady whether 
she belongs to this earth or another sphere; but I’ll be 

d d, madam, if your everlasting cradle rocking is 

not more than the most courteous gentleman can endure 
without remonstrance.” 

“But my babe, sir, must be rocked to sleep. It is very 
unreasonable to suppose that I can neglect my babe.” 

“I don’t like to dispute a lady’s word, and I won’t ; but 
may I be hung, madam, if you are not laboring under a 
delusion. There is no baby in the cradle at all. I have 


114 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


never seen one. Besides there is no necessity for bringing^ 
your cradle in here — there are plenty of other rooms in the 
house.” 

“You are blind, sir ; you must be. My little one is in the 
cradle here safe enough. There, hush, dear, don’t cry. 
Her name is Hannah, sir.” And the woman in white be- 
gan to rock the cradle with energy. 

Yes, but, madam, you will be under the necessity of 
taking your cradle into another room, where you may 
rock it to your heart’s content.” 

“Sir, you are unkind to order me out of my own room.’' 

“But, d n it, madam, excuse me ! you seem to forget 

that this house has changed hands, and it is my room now.” 

“Its the most like home to me, sir.” 

“You are stubborn, madam. I don’t like to threaten or 
proceed to violent measures, and I’ll appeal to your com- 
mon sense once more. In the morning at six o’clock I am 
required to fight a duel. I must be on the ground at th^ 
moment or my reputation sufiers — mark you, matlam, in 
my own estimation. The code makes no provision, admiU 
of no excuse on the score of heavy eyelids. Now, your 
everlasting cradle will keep me awake so long, that when 
I do go to sleep I’ll not get up in time.” 

“You must perceive, sir, that you can endure wakeful- 
ness better than my babe.” 

“Then, madam. I’ll walk the floor, until your trouble- 
some infant goes to sleep. Thomas Balford arose, put on 
his pantaloons and began walking back and forth across 
the chamber. The woman in white sat down by the cra- 
dle and hummed a low refrain while she kept it in motion. 

“Madam,” said he, “I want this floor to myself, you must 
get into the corner.” And he walked deliberately over her 
and the cradle. But t)oth disappeared like a mist, only to 
immediately reappear behind him when he had passed. 

“You do not require much sleep, sir,” said the lady, and 
went on with her refrain : “Hush a by baby, lie still and 
slumber, etc.” 


OLD ANTHONY S SECRET. 


115 


“You are very absolute in a matter which can hardly be 
of importance to you,” replied Thomas Balford snappishly. 
He was angry and walked the floor with passionate energy 
that said plainly enough, he would not have hesitated to 
have picked up both the woman and the cradle and set 
them outside the door, if they had been of an organic na- 
ture palpable to touch. 

“Hush, my babe, lie still and slum Napoleon was 

oftimcs content with an hour’s sleep before an engage- 
ment,” said the woman and proceeded with her song. 
“Hush, my babe, ” 

“And it don’t suffice to break my rest — you essay to filch 
the very secrets of my soul.” 

“I do not filch, sir. I can not avoid reading your 
thoughts any more than you can get rid of your self-con- 
sciousness. My babe is asleep now ; you can go to your 
bed, and I will wake you at five o’clock. But you must 
vacate my room, sir ; you must indeed. Good-night 1 ” 

He turned in his walk and she was gone. The noise of 
the cradle had ceased. 

Yet, Thomas Balford continued for a long time to walk 
back and forth, and mako Napoleon Bonaparte the theme 
of a one-sided conversation. 

“Yes, he was comparatively young when he died, but 
he lived a long time, so little of it was wasted in sleep. 
We are alike in that. I have lived longer already than 
most men of fifty, and what is peculiar to both of us, the 
nerves are quite unaffected by it. I have fallen heir to 
his code and his physique in a smaller sphere, as fate has 
willed ; I don’t ask men’s love while I gan command their 
fear. I have the head and the heart for great things, but 
I was born at the wrong time and at the wrong place. I 
am the one who should have gone to West Point, not my 
brother. Tete iVarmee—l could have climbed to that. Des- 
tiny crushed me at the outset.” 

Such was the substance of his self communion, and I 
have no hesitation whatever in repeating the opinion 


116 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


already expressed, that Thomas Balford was very peculiar. 
It was aftei^hnidnight when he again went to bed and in 
a few minutes fell into a profound and dreamless slumber. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE DUEL. THE SUDDEN APPEARANCE OF THE WITCH OP 
THE WILDERNESS. 

They were to meet at the old mill. It was not an old 
mill — it was not even tlie ruin of an old mill. A tradi- 
tion was all that was left of it. 

It was a narrow and wildly romantic valley, through 
which the creek flowed away, just in sight of the road at 
one or two points when the trees were notin full leaf. It 
was supposed to mark the neighborhood of a silver mine, 
worked by some Spaniards in the long ago who had been 
slaughtered by Indians. It had been whispered about that 
certain individuals at divers times had observed on cer- 
tain dark, and tempestuous nights, a bright fire where the 
furnace, evidenced by some fragments of bricks, is sup- 
posed to have stood, had clearly discerned dark forms in 
motion about it, and had overheard the clatter of the lit- 
tle tub mill at work above the roar of the tempest. They 
were only bold men who would venture to be alone there 
after nightfall. It was a rugged, rock-ribbed, forbidding 
little' vale in the daytime, that retired early and slept late 
within the shadows of the lofty hills about it. It was 
deep in shadow at six o’clock a. m., when four of the gen- 
tlemen of Adair assembled within it, two of them to sat- 
isfy the requirements of the code duello, two of them to 
see that it was perfectly executed. Colonel Brock, with 
his principal, John Elcott, was first upon the ground. 
The latter had found it quite impossible for one gentle- 
man to say in reply to another’s invitation, can not 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


117 


undertake to shoot at you, sir.” The two gentlemen were 
shortly made aware of the arrival of Thomas Balford and 
his second, Nathaniel Gautier, and Doctor Mason, a young 
practitioner fresh from the dissecting room, whom his col- 
lege friend Nat had invited thither from the Blue Grass 
Region, and introduced to the denizens of Adair. Nathan- 
iel Gautier expected dire results from one of the pistols 
he had carefully loaded with a ball, as wo have seen, and 
had taken the precaution to bring Dr. Mason. These Avere 
gentlemen every one. At home in Adair they Avere scA^er- 
ally Colonel, Nat, John, Tom, etc., but as administrators 
of the code something more of formality Avas by mutual 
consent, as it were, assumed. Said Mr. Thomas Balford’s 
second, advancing and extending his hand — 

‘‘Good morning, Colonel Brock. We appear to be very 
early risers in this A^alley. If the mountains had exhib- 
ited something more of close fellowship, there Avonld be 
no valley hero at all. I should say the sun rises about 
ten o’clock.” 

“Not before that, Mr. Gautier. Its a cool quiet spot. 
We will arrange the preliminaries, sir, if you please, and 
begin by marking off the ground, Mr. Gautier— marking 
off the ground.” 

“Certainly,” said Nathaniel Gautier.” 

“You are the younger man and may pace it off; I will 
count. Tlie sun can be in the eyes of neither party, and 
the direction will make no difference.” 

“Twelve, I belioA^e. Avas the number determined upon, 
sir,” said Nathaniel Gautier. 

‘•You are correct. Their length is at your option. In 
that particular, I assure you we are quite indifferent, sir — 
quite indifferent.” 

Thereupon Nathaniel Gautier effected tAvelve magnifi- 
cent strides, and stopped at the halt of the Colonel Avho 
advanced and carefully marked the positions. He un- 
locked the pistol case which Nathaniel Gautier had 
brought, placed the Aveaponsside by side upon the top of 


118 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


the case and threw his liandkerchief over them. At the 
instant he arose from his stooping posture, there appeared 
at his side from behind a bunch of shrubbery a woman 
of about his own age. She was neatly dressed in plain 
calico, wore a white linen shawl over her shoulders and 
pinned across her breast, and carried in her hand a sun- 
bonnet of the same material as her dress. Her gray hair 
was combed smoothly down over her temples and looped 
up with the back hair in a knot behind, after the simple 
fashion in vogue with our mothers. The Colonel was as- 
tonished, and indeed she was a surprise to all, since to all 
she was a stranger. Her presence in such a wild and un- 
frequented locality so early in the morning was a mystery. 

There were no dwellings within several miles, and 
toward the south, the direction from which she a^jpeared 
to have come, stretched away a section of wild country 
formerly called the Wilderness. This at a later date 
had come to be called “The Calaboose” for the reason that ® 
no one, unacquainted with its rugged features and devious 
paths, has been known to succeed in finding his way out 
again after penetrating it any considerable distance. Her 
presence was a mystery ; but* after the first feeling of sur- 
prise had passed the several gentlemen of Adair took off 
their hats to the strange old lady and bade her good morn- 
ing. She turned to them an open and intelligent face, and 
acknowledged their salutations.” 

“Gentlemen, I was told last night that I could, by com- 
ing here this morning, inform myself of the location of 
an old mill, which I wish to discover.” 

“I can discover it to you, madam, and it will afford me 
pleasure to do so. Did you say you were told, madam, 
told ? And will you excuse my impertinence, if I inquire 
who told you ? ” 

“There are higher intelligences than ourselves about us 
in these mountains, gentlemen. I consult them.” 

“Indeed! The poets, madam, seem to be almost uni- 
formly of the opinion that — 


OLD ANTHONY'S SECRET. 


110' 


‘Hovering spirits fill the air 
To fan the broAvs, that restless care 
makes feverish.’ 

aud many of us think their ministrations are of a more 
varied character. Should I ever he so fortunate as to ho 
told anything hy them, I should consult them too,” said 
Nathaniel Gautier. 

^‘They must he first consulted, sir, in a prescribed man- 
ner, before you can expect them to yield up their informa- 
tion. If you are sufficiently acquainted with the sheep 
paths in the wilderness yonder to brave its deceptions, and 
have not mistaken me for a witch or person of malignant 
disposition, you might be put in the way of consulting 
them.” She looked significantly at Thomas Balford as she 
spoke. “It will satisfy in some measure your curiosity, 
gentlemen, for me to say that I am an old woman who hag 
lived alone for several years in the very center of ‘The 
Calaboose.” 

“But yon are not native to the mountains, madam — not 
native to the mountains? ” 

“I was born and educated in Louisville, sir.” 

The gentlemen of Adair desired no witness to the affair 
in hand, and the Colonel hastened to conduct the old lady 
to a position whence he could point her to the cliff from 
which the stream flowed. When she was out of sight 
among the shrubbery that thickly covered the valley, the 
combatants took the places assigned them by their seconds, 
and stood each with cocked pistol at his side awaiting the 
command. 

“Gentlemen,” said the Colonel, “tlie call will be given in 
the following words— one, two, three. It is permissible to 
fire at any time after the utterance of the word one. Or- 
dinarily, should either of you fire deliberately before that 
word is uttered, it is the duty of the second to shoot you 
dead, but since one of the pistols is not loaded, that rule 
does not apply. Gentlemen, are you ready ? ” 

Thomas Balford stood with that habitual grave, heavy 


120 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


look on his face, which gave no indication of excitement, 
nor indeed of feeling of any kind. He had confidence in 
his skill, if the ball was in his pistol, perhaps also in des- 
tiny as not being adverse, if it were not. John Elcott, on 
the contrary, dreaded results as we have seen. Jlis face 
was pallid, lips compressed, and muscles rigid. He had 
no desire to injure Thomas Balford, but stood there lieroic- 
ally to sutfer. 

^‘Fire! One, two, three,!” 

Both men stood Avitli weapons extended and bearing 
steadily upon each other, both refusing to be the first to 
press a trigger, and the seconds waited. The aim was 
wonderfully deliberate, and it is uncertain how long it 
might have been maintained, had not the sound of horses’ 
feet approaching on the mountain side, been heard at that 
instant. It was, in fact. Captain Gregg with a squad com- 
ing to arrest the party. Alice Balford had arisen from a 
fever bed, and gone to urge him to prevent the duel. 

“Gentlemen, both can not reserve your fire, and there is 
a prospect of immediate interference, sirs — immediate 
interference.” 

Thereupon, John Elcott pointed his derringer toward 
the sky and discharged it. Thomiis Balford seemed per- 
plexed. It looked like crime, under the circumstances, by 
which he had been placed in no danger, to deliberately kill 
his opponent. True, tiie code duello permitted it, but was 
it permissible under his own ? It required several mo- 
ments for him to square his conduct, in this sudden emer- 
gency, by his co le, for Thomas Balford’s code governed in 
all things, and John Elcott patiently awaited his fate. Bal- 
ford lowered the muzzle of his derringer toward the 
ground, discharged it, and in disgust flung it upon the sod. 

“Allow me to say, Mr. Balford, that you have won a 
high place in my esteem by your magnanimous act,” said 
Nathaniel Gautier. 

“Its against my principles, sir, to shoot a man who re- 
fuses to shoot at me. I am disappointed with the whole 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


121 


affair — I’m disgusted. But Elcott’s a brave fellow. Tell 
him I said so. My way is not Adairwards and I’ll ride 
on now. Good-bye, Gautier. Gentlemen, good-bye.” 

Thomas Balford mounted his horse and went out of the 
valley at a swift gallop. They watched him as he thun- 
dered along over the irregular and rock-strewn ground, 
and saw his right arm sawing the air in wild gesticulation. 
Captain Gregg also witnessed his departure, and satisfied 
that notiiiiig serious had transpired, quietly withdrew. 
He did not desire to make too close an inquiry, lest he 
should discover it to be his duty to awest all the parties. 

“Egad I I think you ought to have exchanged shots, my 
boy,” said the Colonel. “I have never heard of two men 
coming together, where one fired in the air and the other 
ill the ground. It has made a burlesque of the wliole mat- 
ter, sir — of the whole matter.” 

“It would have been different, had both pistols been 
loaded,” said John. 

“On the next occasion when we use your father’s der- 
ringer’s, Nat, you shall put a ball in both, sir — in both. 
No person will ever be. hurt when I am a second ; but I 
expect- the parties to fire at each other. This is, I repeat 
a burlesque on the code duello and the code duello is too 
grave a subject for burlesque.” 

Tiie Colonel winked at Nat, and a significant smile light- 
ened his features, as he placed the derringers in the case 
and locked it. 

“But Colonel, with a ball in each pistol, when both fire 
at twelve paces, as a principal I should place little faith 
in your insurance,” said Nat. 

“That’s because you don’t comprehend the mighty magic 
by which it is effected, sir. Its because you don’t know 
that when you stepped out for the pistol case, Minnie sub- 
stituted my derringers for yours, and you see, I had neg- 
lected to put balls in mine. It was very wrong in Minnie 
to deprive two gentlemen of the opportunity of killing 
each other; but she is opposed to duelling on principle. 


122 


OL.D Anthony’s secret. 


Of course if a Kentucky gentleman sends a challenge a 
Kentucky gentleman must accept it or give up all claim to 
being a gentleman. I look upon it as the most elBcient 
and speed)^ mode and where there is an assurance of per- 
fect safety, the most preferable mode of settling difficul- 
ties-. I advise you, young gentlemen, always to accept a 
challenge, and save your reputations, provided you select 
me for your second, and so save your lives.” 


CHAPTER XV. 

OUU YOUNG MEN ENTER UPON A CAREER, AND ALICE SAL- 
FORD SHOWS HER HEART TO NATHANIEL GAUTIER. 

There was a matter for astonishment and regret in store 
tor John Elcott. Minnie and he had fixed upon a day, as 
we have seen, for their wedding ; but Colonel Brock on his 
arrival had found her seriously ill. Dr. Mason had been 
summoned and after a diagnosis had shaken his head 
doubtingly, and intimated that if he properly compre- 
hended the nature of her affliction, he could give her no 
permanent relief, and recommended travel and a prolonged 
stay in the South. This opinion was afterwards coincided 
in by different physicians, and the Colonel and his wife, to 
whom their daughter wa.s all the world, made their pre- 
parations to leave Adair indefinitely. It would afford us 
no small consolation in our afflictions, if we could always 
remember that it might have been worse. It might have 
been worse if the Colonel had been financially unable to 
give his daughter a southern tour, to try the efficacy of 
hot sulphur springs and mineral baths. Lovers alone can 
fully appreciate the lovers’ disappointment ; but they bent 
to the inevitable with becoming resignation. So Minnie 
left for the South and John plunged into the vortex of 
politics. At the following election he was elected to the 


OLD Anthony's secket. 


123 


Judgeship, at the same time that Nathaniel Gautier was 
sent to the legislature. When John Elcott began his can- 
vas, he had not reached the age prescribed by law when 
he might legally be qualified to perform the functions of 
the office, and time removed the difficulty but a few days 
before his election. He was congratulated by Judge Er- 
nest Free in the following terms : — 

^‘My dear boy, you have not been elected by virtue of 
your legal experience — but because you are a good Demo- 
crat, and popular personally with Republicans. That you 
will commit errors on the bench is to be expected ; that 
your errors will be expensive to the State and the ruin of 
some of your constituents has not been thought of. They 
are not your legal opinions, nor your qualification for giv- 
ing them upon which you have been elected; but rather 
upon your opinions on State’s rights, national finance, and 
political economy, on all of which you are unquestionably 
sound. The people get all they demand of their judiciary, 
and should not complain of the law’s uncertainties or 
ruinous delays. The history of many a cause celebre will 
clearly demonstrate, that the administration of justice is 
virtually in the hands of us lawyers, and not the judiciary. 
The bar dominates the bench, and good laws, through the 
medium of cunningly devised codes of practice, that rob 
the judiciary of all discretionary i)ower, are administered 
in the interests of us lawyers rather than the litigants. 
John Elcott, you are a brilliant young lawyer ; yet a mere 
pettifogger personally more popular, would have been 
chosen in your stead. You come on to the bench tied 
hand and foot by a code, under which the dear people are 
assumedly protected against incompetency, and the cor- 
rupting infiuence of politics upon the judiciary. A code 
of practice, a cunning farce and blank costly for the amuse- 
ment of the dear people, a travesty of judicial gravity, a 
blank system of judicial robbery, a burlesque parody on 
justice, the science of delay. Yes, sir, the science of delay ; . 
ha, ha. Yes, it is true.” 


124 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


Nathaniel Gautier, now that the engagement of Judge 
Elcott and Minnie Brock had been made public, and all 
hope that Alice may have entertained of supplanting her 
rival as he supposed at an end, he considered his prospect 
of being regarded with favor brightened. Nevertlieless, 
as his horse slowly climbed the mountain, he remembered 
that Elcott had accidentally happened upon the witch of 
the wilderness who had prophesied strangely for both of 
them — saying to Elcott that he should beware of Balford 
who was his Nemesis, and bidding him say to his friend, 
Gautier, that Fate had already chosen him a wife not of 
his own choosing. 

“Am I indeed Fortune’s child?” queried Nat. “Alice 
is the only woman I have ever thought of for a wife. Has 
the decree already gone forth that is to disappoint me ? . 
Then where in the world is the one whom fate has chosen ?” 

But whenever has young man or woman yielded up a 
first fancy, before the weird sister has clipped the thread of . 
hope. Love is a duality, reciprocity is its life. Nathaniel 
Gautier cherished a fancy merely. 

“Good morning,” said this young gentleman of Adair. 
“I feel happy in being able to congratulate you. At least one 
cloud that obscured your sunshine has passed without 
effecting destruction.” 

“You refer to the affair between my brother and Mr. 
Elcott. Yes, that has passed safely. My brother speaks in 
high praise of Mr. Elcott’s courage. Why did he refuse 
to fire at Tom, Mr. Gautier. Did he give a reason ? ” 

“You understand that by the terms of the meeting, only 
one pistol contained a ball. lie had no vindictive feeling 
against Mr. Balford. It would afford no satisfaction to 
wound him, and on the other hand he could not save him- 
self by discharging a harmless weapon.” 

“Yes. Well, it is over. I wish all one’s troubles were 
as shortlived.” And Alice sighed. 

“Your splits are not very buoyant this morning, Miss 
Alice. What trouble now intervenes between you and 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


125 


happiness ; or are you unwilling to share it with or give 
it entirely to one who would be very willing, if in hii 
power, to give you happiness in exchange 

‘O, Happiness ! our being’s end and aim ! 

Good, Pleasure, Ease, Content ! Wbate’er thy name ! ’ 

Happiness seems impossible of definition, and it is scarcely 
possible of attainment.” 

^‘Triie, your generosity would bestow it if it were in 
your gift ; but you can not give me happiness, Mr. Gautier. 
It springs from within, and is, unfortunately, not a prod- 
uct of a Balford’s nature.” 

“It may be the combined product of two natures. Miss 
Alice. If Happiness dwell upon the eartli at all, it waits 
upon reciprocated love.” 

“Fray, you, friend, don’t speak to me of love. Let me 
be honest with you. You do not know Alice Balford, I 
Avill show her to you. There are loves and aspirations in 
her heart that dominate this human love. My friend, I 
can not be absent for a moment from myself. I am a Bal- 
ford, a member of a proud family. I am proud of my 
family narme, and proud of my pride. I have been reared 
from infancy to regard my family as all in all. Love is a 
fiction, marriage a convenience. I can survive disappoint- 
ment in these ; but to see all those comforts, conveniences, 
luxuries, and means of gratifying refined tastes, that have 
been associated with the Balford name since infancy, swept 
away, is more than I could endure. I can be wounded to 
the death through my pride, Mr. Gautier, and such a blow 
threatens me now. I am very unhappy ! ” 

Alice arose and walked the floor, while the tears welled 
up into her brown eyes and emotion choked her utterance. 

“Threatens you now?” inquired the young Gentleman 
of Adair in astonishment. 

“You liave not heard then, that I have been sued for the 
balance of purchase money due on this place, over fifteen 
thousand dollars in all. Fate seems to be making the Bal- 
fords the sport of Fortune. First, Tom must speculate in 


126 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


stock and be robbed of his own fortune, and then his in- 
vestment of mine must turn out so unlucky. He sets up 
the law's delay for my consolation and flatters me with the 
liope of success after many years. But I have sense enough 
to perceive that I shall be as effectively imi)overished by 
years of litigation, even if a verdict should be obtained 
in my favor, as if it were all swept away tomorrow. It is 
the choice, for me, between a lingering death and a sud- 
den one. Oh, I could rail on fortune and curse with a 
will, if I were not a Balford and a woman! ” 

She did not forget to walk gracefully back and forth, as 
became a Balford, but her eyes- flashed defiance on the 
world: her thin lips were compressed and white, and her 
small hands clinched a crumpled manuscript of music as 
in a vice. 

^‘But it becomes a Balford to endure uncomplainingly and 
die if need be without a murmur,” she concluded. 

“You Avrong yourself. Miss Alice, first, by overestimat- 
ing your trouble, next, by refusing to share it.‘’ 

Alice came and stood by his side. There was sadness 
in her tones — they Avere low and gentle — and a melting 
look in her eyes. 

“What, My friend, would you still be so generous and 
careless of your happiness. Here, I give you a friend’s 
hand. My grief is new, I will wear it with more discre- 
tion anon. Do not talk to me of love again, my friend, 
until I give you leave. Go where the people call you ; 
make yourself a name. Do not think of me and I will 
cease to seem necessary to your happiness.” 

“Much you request of me is impossible, Alice. You ask 
me to forget, and I have neither the will nor the desire. 

‘Long, long, be my heart with your memory filled ! 

Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled— 

You may break, you may .shatter the vase if you will. 

But the scent of the roses will hang ’round it still.' ’’ 

“The young Gentleman of Adair, having expressed him- 
self in Mr. Moore’s happiest manner and Avith one of hit 


OLD AMflONY’s SECKET. 


127 


most luscious metaphors, raised Alice’s hand to his lips 
and went hojiio to do her bidding. He was strangely fas- 
cinated. She had shown him that she was cold, but his 
infatuation readily disposed of that difficulty. She would 
learn to love. She was proud and imperious. He was 
neither proud nor imperious. Unlikes attract. He went 
home with hope still alive in his heart. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

GRATER VS. BALFORD. JUSTICE OUGHT TO BE SPEEDILY 
ADMINISTERED. THE WITCH AGAIN. A SAD EVENT, 

My task begins. We enter upon the came, ceJehre. I 
must write some strange chapters that carry us over a 
period of ten years. They are chapters of pretty theory, 
but horrible practice ; of robbery by the very means that 
assume to/preveiit it, of folly, of heart-aches, of hopes 
deferred, oi death; they are chapters illustrating the 
science of delay. 

It is the second day of the session and Anthony Grater 
comes into Court and takes his seat beside Judge Free. 

• ^‘Has he filed his answer yet — I say, has he filed it ? ” 

^‘Not yet. He has until the third day of term, I tell you.” 

^‘What are the ten days’ notice before term for — I say, 
what are they for?” 

<‘Let me tell you once for all, that the law gives the de- 
fendant ten days in vacation and up to and inclusive of the 
third day of term in which to consult his counsel and pre- 
pare his answer.” 

H think ten days is time enough to make up his mind 
whether he owes the money, or whether he don’t and why. 
I want to see his answer — I say, I want to see it.’' And 
Anthony Grater went out of the Court House dissatisfied 
already with what he deemed unnecessary and unreason- 


128 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


able delay. And Anthony’s question was unanswerable. 
A man could consult a great many lawyers, examine a 
great many papers and witnesses, and write a great many 
answers in ten days. On the third day he came in and 
took liis place at the table. Thomas Balford had been in 
busy consultation with his attorneys Springer and Foxihe, 
of an adjoining county, whom he had engaged to make 
his defense. 

*‘Your Honor,” said Mr. Foxine, “we wish to file the 
answer and cross petition of defendant against James 
Mathews and Lizzie Mathews. Case of Grater vs. Balford. 
Judge Free, I presume the case will go over to next term 
to bring in the parties.” 

“Plaintiff will take leave to reply to second day of next 
term,” said Judge Free. 

“Then Anthony Grater arose from his seat and his eye 
kindled with indignation. 

“Justice ought to be speedily administered. That’s in 
the Declaration of Rights. Why can’t they answer in six 
days, as easily as six months — 1 say, why can’t they an- 
swer and let the trial go on ? I’m an old man — I say, old, 
and time is precious — I may die before then.” 

“They can not be compelled to answer before next term 
because you didn’t write the code. But perhaps it would 
have been worse for us and better for society if you had,” 
said Judge Free. 

“Must it be continued — I say, must it be so ? ” 

“There is no help for it,” said Judge Free. 

Then Anthony Grater took a folded paper from his pocket, 
the bottom fold of which he thrust abruptly before the 
eyes of Judge Free. 

“Its my will,” he whispered. 'Ts it properly executed — 
I say, is it right ? ” 

“Yes, but it is not witnessed,” replied the Judge.” 

“Then witness it ; you and this gentleman. Its my sig- 
nature — I say, its mine.” 

The J udge did as requested, and returned it to Anthony, 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


129 


who carefully inclosed it in a largo envelope, and handed 
it again to the lawyer. 

‘Tut it carefully *away in your safe, Judge Free— I say 
in your sate.” Thereupon he arose and left the Court 
room. As he passed out, he was followed by the Witch 
of the Wilderness. She had come in the morning with 
with her satchel, taken her place among the audience, and 
set herself diligently at work knitting a stocking. Her 
eyes had rested almost continuously on the person of 
Thomas Baltord. There would come a hard look into them 
at times and her face would lose its habitually frank and 
open expression. She touched lightly Anthony Grater’s 
shoulder, as he descended the Court House steps, and the 
old man turned to look at her standing on the step above 
• him. 

“You are Anthony Grater?” she said. 

‘Yes, I am Anthony Grater — I say, I am Anthony 
Grater.” 

“Be on your guard against Thomas Balford. His pun- 
ishment has begun at last, and he will become desperate. 
KeeiJ out of liis way. 

“At last ? What do you know of Tliomas Balford — I say, 
what do you know of him ? ” 

“Enough to wish for him an unhappy life and misera- 
ble death. I am his ]N’emesis.” 

Then she turned from Anthony who watched her re- 
treating form, shook his head at intervals, and muttered : 

“I have nothing against Thomas Balford. I don’t know 
you — I say, I don’t know you.” 

“Then Anthony pursued his customary route home- 
ward, and stopped on his way at Bartholomew Sawyer’s, 
lie went around the cottage, entered the shop, and took his 
customary seat on the hewing block. Bartholomew was 
not there. 

“Mollie Sawyer — I say, Mollie ! ” he shouted. 

“O, are you here, grandpa Anthony. What are you 
doing hero alone, grandpa Anthony ? ” Over a year has 


130 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


passed and Mollie lias passed along with it the boundary 
of babyhood. 

“I am waiting for yon, Mollie Sawyer. Can you read 
the book I bought you — I say, can you read it ? ” 

^‘Yes, I can. I’ll be seven soon. Do you want to heah 
me yead ? ” 

Yes, I do. Get the book and let me hear you, and mind 
the ars, do you hear, mind them.” 

AYell, heah it is. I have been yeading it to Mama 
and Pop.” 

‘‘And how does Pop like it — I say, how does she like it ?” 

“She pays attention— =I say, she pays attention and don’t 
go to sleep. Its all about a little gull who was very pooa, 
and a good old man, jist like you, came and gave her every- 
thing nice.” 

“Perhaps it isn’t a romance — I say, perhaps its not a 
fairy tale at all.” 

They heard voices and a shuffling of feet on the front 
porch. They heard Mrs. Hannah Sawyer’s footsteps, as 
she hastened to open the front door. Then a piercing 
shriek, as of one in the death agony, rang through the 
rooms and penetrated the ears of old Anthony and the 
child. The faces of the old man and the child were 
blanched in an instant, and the shriek was echoed by the 
answering wail of the little one as she darted in terror from 
the old man’s side and ran into the house. He followed 
her more slowly, oppressed with the weight of uncertainty 
and dread. Two men had brought Bartholomew Sawyer 
in from the mountain. They found him by the side of a 
slab ot sandstone, which he had been trying to move. He 
lay dead upon the dining room table. His wife lay dead 
to all appearance upon the lounge, and the poor child in 
a wild transport of grief, rushed from one to the other 
moaning, and shrieking, and crying alternately Mama, 
Papa. Old Anthony threw one glance about him — his 
eyes rested upon the men — his face grew livid, and his 
form seemed to swell with rage ; but he turned quickly 


OLD Anthony's seouet. 


131 


and rushed from the room. He was back in an instant, 
and dashed a gourd full of water in the face of Hannah 
Sawyer. Seizing her AYildly by the wrist he began to 
chafe her arms and temples while he stormed at the two 
men wlio stood, for the time stupefied.” 

^Hgnorant brutes! murderous villains!” shouted the 
old man. “Did you want to kill them all at one blow ! Go 
for the doctor one of you, and the other for Xathaniel 
Gautier. Why don’t you go — I say, why don’t you go! ’ 
Now that the men were commanded they moved with 
alacrity. 

Mollie had climbed onto the dining room table and lay 
moaning with her face against the face of lier dead father. 
She had never looked on death and did not recognize it. 
But she sobbed out at intervals : 

“Pooa Papa, you are so cold, so cold ! ” She discerned 
not the presence of the grim visitor, but she was heart- 
broken, that her papa who had been ever so full of bound- 
ing blood and animation, lay motionless and cold. He 
could not move because he was so (;old, and she could not 
warm him with her little hot cheek and hands. It was 
painful to be so cold. She had cried out in wintei’ when 
just the tips of her little fingers Avere benumbed with 
cold, they were so painful, and she Avept and moaned for 
the pain her papa endured Avho Avas cold and numb all 
oyer. She Avas lying there Avhen Nathaniel Gautier 
arriA^ed.” 

“Take her home and soothe her — I say, take her home 
Avitli you,” said Anthony. 

“Oh, Nat, Nat, pooa Papa, he’s so cold and still, come 
and make him Avarm, Nat, come.” And her young eyes 
red with Aveeping, her young face full of anguish, appealed 
mutely and more eloquently than words to the heart of 
the young Gentleman of Adair. He took her in his arms 
and kissed her Avith a Avild fervor born of sympathy and 
his love of the beautiful. The child seemed to him an ex« 


132 


OLD ANTHONY S SECRET. 


ponent of liis highest conception of purity and beauty. 
In his thought she was divine. 

“He does not feel cold my Lily blossom — you see he 
does not cry out with i^ain — he is asleep ; he will sleep for 
a long time, we must not wake him. Kiss him good-bye, 
and we will go to grandma Gautier’s.” 

Kathauiel Gautier was the child's mentor. Her faith in 
him was unbounded. Her papa was asleep, and in her 
ignorance and innocence she touched the dead lips lightly 
with her own lest she might wake him, and twining her 
arms about Nat’s neck, she buried her face in his bosom. 
There was a shadow still upon her soul. 

“Are you betteh. Mama. Are you betteh ? ” And she 
motioned to be set down by her mother. The active efforts 
of old Anthony had aroused her heart into action, but she 
sat pallid and woe begone and speechless before her great 
grief. At the touch of her child the fountain of tears was 
broken up, and she pressed her again and and again to her 
breast, and moaned over her. 

“She is better away from here, Hannah Sawyer. Dry 
your tears for a moment — long enough to thank God that 
he has left an angel for you to love, and send her away 
with a light heart. You have no right to make her young 
heart heavy — I say, you have no right.” 

God bless your miserly old soul, Anthony Grater, it has 
need of blessing; but you have shown strong judgment 
and a generous impulse that do not need it. The mother’s 
love grasped the truth, welcomed the sacrifice of feeling — 
she kissed her child and tried to smile. 

“You will be betteh soon. Mama,” said Lily blossom 
with a smile, as Nathaniel Gautier carried her out. 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


133 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE CAUSE PROGRESSES. MISS LIZZIE MATHEWS A CHARM- 
ING GIRL. WOULD TO GOD ALICE HAD NOT BEEN 
BORN A BALFORD. 

Second Term. Six mouths are gone and Circuit Court 
is again in session. Lizzie Mathews is in court figura- 
tively. She is there in the person of her attorney Judge 
Free, and James Mathews is there in iiersou. It had been 
necessary for the young lady to come in and be ready to 
swear to any paper, which the Judge might consider advis- 
able to file on her account. 

“Your Honor,” said eJndge Free, “In the case of Grater 
vs. Balford, etc., I file reply of plaiutift' and joint demurrer 
of defendants James Mathews and Lizzie Mathews, to de- 
fendant lialford’s cross petition and answer. Can we agree 
upon a day for arguing the demurrer, Mr. Springer? ” 

“Tuesday of next week would suit us,” said Mr. Springer, 
and it was made a special order for Tuesday week. 

Anthony Grater had simply denied the truth of the 
allegations of defendant Balford. 

“Why not argue it now— Isay, why not now?” inquired 
Anthony Grater. 

“The lawyers must have time to consult authorities and 
look into the case,” said Judge Free. 

“You have been looking into the case for six months, 
and you all knew just as much about the law of the case 
six months ago, as you do now. You might have brought 
the Mathews* into Court then, and filed your demurrer 
then and argued it then — if ” 

“If what?” inquired Judge Free. 

“If then' had been no code, you said.” 

“Or if you had written one, Anthony Grater. I have 
confessed its a bad mill for the public to bring grist to, but 
I didn’t build it. It turns out bran chiefiy, and the fiour 


134 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


is wasted in the process, sticks to the machiuery and falls 
into the pockets of the millers. In two particulars it re- 
sembles the mills of the gods. ‘They grind sloAvly, but 
exceedingly tine,’ and the millers exact heavy tolls. ISTow^ 
sir, go about your business. I’ll attend to Grater vs. Bal- 
ford, etc. Ha, ha, yes. Good day, Mr. Grater.” 

“I am growing old — I say, I am growing old,” muttered 
Anthony. 

On the Tuesday following, they argued the demurrer 
for a whole day, and Anthony Grater, Thomas Balford 
and James Mathews sat and listened. The Court sustained 
the demurrer, and judgment was given for Anthony Gra- 
ter. Messrs Springer and Foxiiie gave notice of appeal 
and obtained ninety days in which to make up their assign- 
ment of errors. Old Anthony’s eyes had si^arkled when 
the Court had announced its judgment, and he had rub- 
bed together his withered old hands in ecstacy. But his 
joy was sliort lived. Three months to assign errors, and 
uncertainty still in the future ! 

“I say,” exclaimed the old man in indignant anger. “It 
is set forth in the Declaration of Rights: ‘Justice shall be 
speedily administered.’ I demand that the fundamental 
law of the land shall be resx^ected in this Court. Why 
not assign what they deem your Honor’s errors tomorrow 
— I say, why not ? They could send them to the Suijreme 
Court tomorrow, and the Sui^rcme Court could give its 
decision within a week — I say, it could.” 

“Let your counsel speak for you, Mr. Grater. Such is 
not the i)ractice.,’ 

“Then I say the practice is a fraud upon the bill of rights. 
I demand speedy justice — I say, I have a right to speedy 
justice.” 

“You are in contempt of Court,* Mr. Grater, and I shall 
commit you if you do not take your seat. Such speedy 
justice you would hardly relish.” 

“Aye, aye. There’s nothing speedily administered but 
injustice. I'm growing old. Yes, yes, I’m growing old.” 


OLD ANTHONY S SECltP:T. 


135 


And the old man bent his head in disappointment and 
went out of the Court room. 

Grater vs. Balford, etc., stood continued until next term. 

How many changes may be effected in six months. Ma- 
jor Gautier was known to the whole county. His hospital- 
ity had been proverbial. In past times the Mathews fam- 
ily liad been made welcome at the Gautier mansion. The 
Major had been their j)hysician. Miss Lizzie Mathews 
felt quite at home at Madame Gautier’s. She was happily 
situated, too, for laying siege to the heart of the young 
master, who wondered if it were she, whom Fate had 
chosen for his wife. He might respond to the warmth of 
her rays anon, but as yet he w^as an iceberg. It takes time 
to crowd out one fancy by another. He essayed no analysis 
of his feelings. Alice Balford had no peer in the world—, 
there was nothing more to be said, and Alice Balford was 
sick. He persuaded himself that he loved her best in her 
sickness. She seemed oppressed in feeling. The doctor 
said there was something against his skill, a dead weight 
on her mind. He did not know what it was to have a ped- 
igree, and had no appreciation of one, even had he been 
able to fathom a Bal ford’s feelings. He did not suspect it 
was the lawsuit. Judgment had actually been rendered 
against Iicr. It might be six months, nine months or a 

year what matter? ” She would be evicted, and eviction 

would be death. She preferred that death would seek 
her in advance. 

“If you would trust in your brother’s strength and the 
good will of your friends, who will not sec you deprived 
of reasonable comfort, your disease would more readily 
yield to the ])hysician’s treatment; and with returned 
health your trouble would seem lighten-,” said Nathaniel 
Gautier. 

“Not so. I should be the more miserable. The thought 
that death will outstrip the courts consoles me. Let us 
talk no more of it, my friend, I am sorry that I ever com- 


136 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


plained of Fate or murmured at destiny. It is unbecom- 
ing in a Balford. My brother never did.” 

‘‘She has said truly/’ sighed the young Gentleman of 
Adair. “Her heart is locked, and the key was lost in her 
infancy. It lies somewhere beneath the rubbish of family 
pride. Woiild to God, Alice had not been born a Balford I” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE THIRD TERM. MORE DELAY. ANTHONY JEALOUSLY 
GUARDS THE WIDOW AND HER CHILD, AND THEY 

don’t know why. 

It was the third term of the Circuit Court. 

Grater vs. Balford, et ah, appealed,” said Judge Elcott. 

“It has not been reached by the . Supreme Court, your 
Honor,” said Mr. Springer. 

“It stands continued,” said the Judge. 

“Why has it not been reached — I say, why has it not 
been decided?” demanded Anthony Grater. 

“I perceive,” said the Judge, “that ninety days were 
allowed for assignment of errors, which brought it too 
near the summer vacation to be reached by the Supreme 
Court, and there lias not been sufficient time since.” 

“And the fundamental law says, justice ought to be speed- 
ily administered — it says so. There’s a year and a-half of 
an old man’s life wasted, and who knows how much to 
follow — I say, who knows, I may be dead. And the longer 
justice is delayed the more it costs. You trifle with time; 
you rob me of it, and its too precious at my years ; I’m old. 
You rob the estate by delay, you lawyers, and you bur- 
lesque justice.” 

“Justice is not as speedily administered as it should, or 
perhaps might be ; but you must scold the lawyers outside 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 137 

of the Court room, Anthony,” pleasantly said John Elcott, 
who had, meanwhile, become Judge. 

“Xearly a year and a-lialf wasted, and a proper tribunal 
might decide it in an hour and a-half — I say, it might.” 

Old Anthony went from the Court room for the third 
time. It would be six months before the cause of Grater 
vs. Balford, ef a/., Avould be called again, and even mo- 
ments seem precious at eventide, darkness is so near. Yet 
Anthony Grater, by a long life of seclusion, during whicli, 
it seems, he had kept some cherished, perhaps vindictive 
scheme in view, had schooled himself to patience, lie met 
Uncle Ilamp in the Court House Square. 

‘‘IVhy have you come — I say, why did you leave Han- 
nah Sawyer?” 

‘^Lawd bress yo soul, Honey, I done come cause she sent 
me foali you.” 

^‘Is she worse, Hampton White — is she feeling wmrse?” 

^‘I reckon not, Mars’r Grater, ef de reflections ob her 
idears am a suali sign. She done tole me to tell yo a 
young lady’s dar an wants to see yo soon es yo kin leave. 
Specs de Lily blossom’s mudder ain’t berry strong, an dat 
young lady mout make her talk hersef to deafth in ’bout 
two hours.” 

“She's sick well nigh unto death — I say, she’s very sick. 
Who can the woman be? She must go about her business. 
Come with me, Hampton White — I say, come.” 

“I’ll be dar es soon es de ole machinery will do de busi- 
iiefl*. Its creakin and grindin dreftul to-day. Specs dars 
a stowm a brewin some whar.” 

Old Anthony bent his head and strode forward. His 
thoughts wore busy. He did not hear old Hamp mutter- 
ing behind him. 

“Lawd lub his ole soul ; he’s been jis like an ole lieu a 
broodin ober dem chiilen since we put Mars r Sawyer un- 
der de daisies. It plumb flustrates my conceptional inge- 
nuity to done foun out wy de ole hen keeps a cluckin and 
scratchin and a rutfliu her fedders and pickin at every one 


138 


OLD ANTHONY S SECRET. 


who come neah dem chillen. Mars’r Sawyer — de ole 
Marsh- snuff out his candle mighty sudden, fo lie done make 
de grabe stone foah dis chile. Dats de Avay. De ole Mars’r 
don’t call all dem dat stan wif der hats in der bans a 
listenen an aAvaitin foali de call. De young jiipins done been 
fallin all around me foah fifty yeah, and here’s ole HamP 
jis withered all up an stickin to de stem yet. Foah de 
Lawd, it mighty quare, sholy. 

When Anthony entered the room where Hannah Saw- 
yer lay upon a couch. Miss Lizzie Mathews Avas talking at 
her AAdth great volubility. lie glanced at her savagely. 

‘‘You must not talk, Hannah SaAvyer, — I say, you must 
not do it, and she must not be talked to. Miss Mathews.” 

“Slie is my half sister, Mr. Grater.” 

“You are mistaken. She has no sister. Slie has no 
friend — I say, she has none,” said the old man bluntly, as 
he seated himself by the sick Avoman, and laid his rough 
palm tenderly upon her head. 

The tears sprang into the sick woman’s eyes and she 
said A^ery softly : 

“I have you, Anthony, and I don’t know Avhy I’m sure.” 

“I love you, grandpa Anthony, because you are so good 
to Mama.” And the little one patted his seamed and yel- 
loAV cheek Avith her hand and kissed him. She Avas losing 
her childish vernacular. 

‘Tt is not necessary that you should know why, Hannah 
SaAvyer. I’m happier Avith some one to care for — I say, 
I’m happier.” 

It Avas a strange thing for so old a man to say. When 
one looked on his shrunken form, his bald head Avith its 
fringe of Avhite hair, his sunken eyes and the deep furrows 
that time had Avrought on his face, his assumption of re- 
sponsibilities and cares sounded like a grim joke. It seemed 
high time that he should be looking about the world for 
some one to care for him. 

“I’m sure its not my fault if we have not been friendly. 

I have always felt ” 


OLD Anthony's secret. 


139 


do you want to be friendly now — I say, why?’’ 
interrupted Anthony snappishly. 

“De ole hen won’t ’low anyone to ’tice away dem chi lien. 
Its inij^lity quare sho, how he affectionates de Lily blossom, 
when he doan seem to care foali nobody 'cept hissef,” mut- 
tered old Ilamp who had come in and taken his seat in 
the corner. 

“AVhen I saw Mollie at Mrs. Gautier’s, I couldn't lielp it, 
she’s so sweet; and if you shouldn’t get better, or if you 
sliould, I hope you will let me do everything I can for you 
and her; and I don’t see why you shouldn’t come and live 
with us. Wo have plenty of room, and it would make 
me very happy.” 

“Nathaniel Gautier is very fond of Mollie Sawyer — I say, 
he’s very fond of her.” 

Anthony looked steadily into the eyes of Lizzie Math- 
ews. The gaze disconcerted her, and she spoke evasively. 

“Is he indeed. I’m glad to hear it.’’ 

“You know he is, Lizzie Mathews — you know it,” 
growled the ogre. 

“I am glad you came, Lizzie. Your kiss of reconcilia- 
tion has done me good. I would not be unfriendly with 
anyone, and I ask God to bless you, my sister. But we live 
ill ditfereiit worlds, so different we can not associate ; we do 
not seem like kin. When we have passed the river all this 
may be changed.” 

“I specs yo’s right, my rosebud. Ef it ain’t, dars a mighty 
pooa show foah dis chile, ef he lies to go frough de mill 
agin wid his cullah agin him. I’se looking foah nigger 
equality I is,” muttered old Ilamp. 

“Come and kiss me good-bye, sister; I’ve talked too 
much,” said Hannah Sawyer after a little. And Lizzie 
Mathews, mortified by her rebuff, kissed her neglected sis- 
ter, who refused to be patronized, very coldly and Went 
away. 

“You have no sister, Hannah Sawyer. She’s cfmrting 
Nathaniel Gautier— I say, she's courting him. I will 


140 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


darken the room and you must go to sleep. Mollie, go 
out with Hampton White. You may walk as far as my 
house, and pick a bunch of flowers. Here is the key of 
the gate. Don’t come back for two hours, I will sit and 
Avatch — I say, I will stay Avith your mother.” 

The old miser put his lips to the child’s foreliead and 
sent her aAvay. 

“Oh, that AYill be nice. You Avill take good care of 
Mama, and I Avill take my book and yead to uncle Ilamp. 
We Avill sit among the floAA^ehs. You love to hear me yead 
don’t you, uncle Hamp ? ” 

“LaAvd lub yo, Dewdrop, I does that,” said old Hamp as 
they Avent out of the door. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

HIS LILY BLOSSOAI PROPOUNDS A MOAIENTOUS QUESTION TO 
NATHANIEL GAUTIER. HE ADMIRES MISS LIZZIE, AND 
AVONDERS HOAV HE EVER COMPARED HER TO AN 
ICEBERG. 

One in the fresh blossom of childhood, beautiful, tinted 
cheeks, skin Avhite as bleached avooI, sparkling broAvn eyes, 
lithe and graceful as a kitten, untainted by theAvorld, pure 
as the heart of a snoAV drift, but fervent as the sun’s ray ; 
the other in the last stage of natural decay, frightfully 
ugly, sunken cheeks, skin dull, dead black, its transpa- 
rency gone, a picture on the shield of Nemesis, eyes from 
Avhich the gloAV and sparkle had departed, limbs stiff and 
uiiAvieldly, moving ahvays under protest and complaint ; 
he had left a long trail along the loAvest level of life 
through the slime of ignorance, walking barefooted and 
helpless over the flints and shards of other men’s passions, 
freaks and foibles, Avith the lash at his back and the bur- 
then on his shoulders ; a slave, tested, found true and pure 


OLD Anthony’s seceet. 


141 


both bcantifiil Id the sight of God as they sat in ohf An- 
thony’s garden among the roses. And the child with a 
great boquet in one hand looked dreamily np from her 
book, and asked the old, old question that thousands of 
years before her time, philosophers had asked and tried to 
answer. 

Papa is not on the mountain wliere they put liim^ 
where is he then, uncle II amp ? ” 

“I’se mighty ignorant on dat subjic, my dallin little Dew- 
drop ; but I sj)ecs ole Mars’r has stowed him away some- 
whar, leastwise all dar is of him dats wuff keepiu.” 

“But they put him under ground in a coffin, and God 
didn’t dig him up.” 

“^o chile, ob coase not. Dat ain’t de way. You’ve seed 
de dew-drop come in de niawnin an go away afoah noon, 
but ye don't see it goiu. Dats sometiii like de spirit, chile. 
I specs de angels, my favorite, comes wif dar wings and 
totes dat spirit off cause its kinder awkward at fust.” 

“But where, uncle Ilamp?” How will Mama find him, 
if she goes to see him? She talks about it sometimes.” 

“Wy, one ob de stars, chile, I reckon. I don’t see any 
Oder place outside, ob dis world foah a foothold. She’ll find 
him, sholy. Den, sometimes. Honey, de abraisions ob dat 
idear am all obflustrated an it ’pears like dat ain’t de way 
at all. Perhaps he hasn’t done gone from dese yer moun- 
tains at all, but stays wif yo’uns all do time, ’cause de 
brack folks sees der ghosts at night frequent, an de white 
folks sometimes. Its mighty onsartiu. Can’t say as its 
plumb settled in my mind, chile, whar we does take up 
our log’in when we lays de bones in de valley ; but ole 
Mars’r has some place all fixed and your papa’s pretty tol- 
erable comfortable, Dewdrop, I reckon. ” 

“Oh, if I could only see my Papa ! I hoi)e he hasn’t gone 
away very fah, and won’t fohget to come and see me bye 
and bye,” said Lily blossom. Then, childlike, the thought 
was crowded out of her mind by the flowers which she 
began busily to pluck and arrange with care. 


142 


OLD ANTHONY S SECRET. 


“Lawd bress yo soul, De\ydrop, yo doue picked half do 
flowahs in Mars'r Grater’s gardeu.” 

“Well, there are lots of buds, and there will be plenty 
moah tonlorro^Y, uncle Hamp. You see I must have three 
boquets, one foah Mama, one foah grandpa Anthony, and 
one foah Nat; dear Nat, I couldn’t fohget him.” 

“Bress yo little soul, my dallin Dewdrop, pick ’em all ef 
yo likes. Foahde Lawd, I hoi^e dey’ll keep a bloomin foah 
yo alius ; but yo must ’spect to feel de prickles, chile- 
When yo’s mighty happy, dars alius a heap ob misery lyin 
around close by. Mind what I tole yo, chile.” 

Then she started gaily home with her sable chaperon, 
and met Nathaniel Gautier on the way. She ran swiftly 
toward him holding aloft a boquet. 

“Its foah you, Nat, its foah you. Tlj;e roses are nearly all 
gone, but see the pinks and sweet-williams, and buttercups, 
and geraniums, and asters — I liiade it as pretty as I could.” 

“Ho ! my Lily blossom. You are the sweetest boquet of 
all, and you grow sweeter and more beautiful every day. 
Thank you, for your boquet. I’ll keep you both for awhile.” 
And he lifted her in his arms, turned back upon his course 
and carried her homewards. 

“I’m getting ever so big, Nat, and bye and bye I’ll be too 
heavy foah you to carry. What will you do then, Nat — 
Avhat will you do then ? ” 

The young Gentleman of Adair smiled to hear her me- 
chanical imitation of Anthony Grater. But she had put 
a question that he had never propounded to himself, and 
a very serious question it appeared to him, when he began 
to canvas it. He had never forcastethe future and beheld 
the child in a few, fast flitting years, expanded into the 
woman. A woman, if^nottoo heavy, inconvenient to carry 
at least. It became a very momentous question. What 
shall I do then ? He put it aside for further reflection, and 
answered : 

“I’ll buy a nice pony to carry my Lily blossom.” 


OLD ANTIIONY^S SECltET. 


143 


“You are so good, Nat — you are so good. Now, you 
mustn't fohgot.’^ 

llis Lily blossom kissed him on the lips and held her bo- 
quet to his nose. She was irresistible. 

“\\"e will go in and talk to mother Gautier a little while. 
Come along, Ilamp.” He bore her up the path between 
the evergreen rows, singing 

“I ne’er could any luster see, 

In eyes that would not look ou me ; 

I ne’er saw nectar on a lip, 

But where my own did hope to sip.” 

It came of a wild exuberance of spirits. Perhaps he 
never thought of what he was singing. He was certainly 
not thinking at the moment of Alice Balford. 

They met Lizzie Mathews in tlie house ; she was a su- 
perblj'' elegant young lady with all the polish that “Daugh- 
ter’s College” could bestow, and she had developed a dis- 
cretion that enabled her to appear dangerous to any young 
gentleman who could sing : 

“I ne’er saw nectar on a lip, 

But where my own did hope to sip.” 

however absorbing the fancy he had cherished. 

“Oil, come to me. You are a lilyblossom. Mr. Gautier, 
you have a happy faculty for giving appropriate names. 
Do come, darling. You don’t dislike me, do you ? ” 

“Oh, no, Miss, I don’t dislike anybody, but I love just a 
few, and I love them very much.” 

“And who are they, dear?” 

“Why there is Mama, and grandpa Anthony, and Nat, 
and mother Gautier, and I love Hamp, I do. He’s good.” 
There was a smile on the faces of the others, but the old 
negro hobbled from his corner, and when he placed his 
black and misshapen hand solemnly on the child’s head, 
they saw that his lip quivered and a tear welled up into 
his eye, as he raised them reverently to the ceiling. 

“God bress yo puah white soul, my dallin Dewdrop. Ef 
you ask ole Mars’r please open de gate foah ole Hamp, de 


144 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


ole niggah will get into Heaben sartin suah. Dars an 
angel alius a listeneii to lieah you talk, chile.” Then the 
old negro hobbled back to his corner. 

‘‘Teach her to love me Mr. Gautier, as she loves 
you. I would give the world to be so loved.” 

“I don’t see how it is possible for anyone to help loving 
you. Miss Lizzie.” 

“There, you make game of me, Mr. Gautier, and I am so 
deeply in earnest. Come, darling, be my lilyblossom too, 
and I will tease your Mama and grandpa Anthony to let 
you go home with me, when you can gather flowers all the 
day long if you like, and have a peacock with a beautiful 
tail all for your own, and a pony to ride on.” 

“Oh, Nat is going to. give me a pony, when I get too 
heavy to carry. And Mama’s sick. I must stay and take 
care of her — I say, I can’t leave Mam^ 

“Doesn’t it seem hard, Mr. Gautier, when I want so to 
take my sister and her child to my heart, that some wrong 
and neglect done before I was born should debar me. And 
you know, since I have been old enough to inquire and 
learn anything of my sister, I have been away at school. 
I don’t know how it all happened, do you ? ” 

“No, Miss Lizzie ; I never knew you were sisters until a 
few days ago, and it puzzles me to determine why old An- 
thony persists in saying that you are not sisters.” 

“And I don’t know why old Anthony seems to want to 
keep us apart, nor why he takes so great an interest in her 
and Lily blossom, though I am glad they have such a 
protector.” 

Nat remembered the ominous warnings old Anthony 
had given with a view of keeping Miss Lizzie apart from 
him also, and answered : 

“Anthony is a strange man. It is all a mystery to me. 
I’m sure I don’t understands at all.’ 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


145 


CHAPTER XX. 

THOMAS B Alford’s horse carries him into the wilder- 
ness. THE WISE MAN AND HIS COMPANION 

Tlie Supreme Court has reversed the judgment of the 
Court below in Qrater vs. Balford, on the ground that the 
allegation of defendant that James Mathews obtained the 
property from his ward by fraud is a mixed question of 
law and fact. As a result plaintilT filed a demurrer to the 
allegation that the ward was unable legally to convey to 
her guardian after she was twenty-one and before she was 
twenty-six years of age. Then the case went over for six 
months more. 

Thomas Balford was on his way home from the Court 
House apparently oblivious to his surroundings and care- 
less of the direction in which he was being borne by his 
horse, which chose its own way among the sheep paths 
that crossed and re-crossed each other running in every 
conceivable direction. It was a wildlv nicturesque region 
through which the animal bore Him at its own discretion. 
Winding back and forth, climbing the rugged sides of 
steep inclines whence the loose fragment of rock, set in 
motion b)^ the horse’s feet, went bounding from one pro- 
jecting strata to another. Along perilous pathways where 
the patient and careful animal peered timidly over the 
precipices into gorges whose ragged sides peeped grimly 
tlirough the dense foliage hundreds of feet below ; anon, 
along a confined and lonesome gorge, through which the 
mountain springs discharged their crystal waters, where 
the water lilies fioated upon the swift current and nodded 
day and night, dancing to the ceaseless tinkle of the stream- 
let, broken among the rocks. If Thomas Balford saw 
these things, at all, it was as swift, flitting shadows that 
left behind them no impressions. He was in the midst of 
the Wilderness. He had passed in a lonesome nook, half 


146 


oLJ) Anthony’s secret. 


hidden by the underbrush, an old log shanty gone partly 
to decay, and had not noticed that two men sat withim 
and watched him covertly. One man was on the hither 
side of middle age, the other somewhat beyond it. Both 
were engaged in smoking pipes manufactured out of corn- 
cobs. There were some brands on the old hearth not yet 
expired, and a smell of fried pork and colfee pervaded the 
shanty. 

‘^George,” saidtlie younger, “that’s Balford, what bought 
the Mathews’ place.’’ 

“Which its the same him and old Anthony Grater’s a 
rawin about, and he’ll lose it by all accounts, I reckon,” 
said the elder in an oracular manner. He was a grave- 
faced ]nan, who never looked his companion in the face. 
When he talked he held his pipe in his lingers and looked 
at that. He was a wise man, a Jiian of experience. By a 
deferential manner the younger man indicated that he so 
regarded him. His own authoritative utterance indicated 
that he so regarded himself. He drew a few whiffs from 
his pipe and continued : 

“His sister gived a mortgage, my juvenile wolverine, 
and you can’t git away from a mortgage. It holds land 
tighter than a pair of patent adjustable handcuffs, or two 
city detectives with a sheriff's posse, kin hold a man.” 

“Did they ever hold you, George ? ” 

“I haven’t been thar when they was ])articular anxious 
to have me; but then I ain’t to be judged by ordinary 
rules, youngster. I know some tricks that won’t be rightly 
known afore the next generation. In my remarks I refer 
to men in general not the exceptions. If thar's anything 
goes agin my grain mor’n another, its to hear a man brag.’’ 

“Old Anthony, I hear say, give thirteen thousand dollars 
for the mortgage. That Avas after Nath and — ^ — ” 

“Stop ! ” exclaimed the grave man. He took his pipe 
from his mouth, i^oured out a stream of smoke, and 
Avatched its ascent among the crude heAAUi joists above 
him. “Stop, you young catamount. Ain’t you aAvare 


OLD Anthony's secret. 


147 


you are gittin onto a circumstance as has given me a heap 
of trouble, ^vhich its cost me a heafty sight of thinkin 
also ? I haint been used to gittin stuck for an opinion a^* 
to how eny of the boys gits petered out. Its mostly due 
to indiscretion and want of wisdom generally. And if 
thar’s enything as goes agiii the grain more’n braggin^ its 
to be toted up sudden afore a circumstance as I can’t quite 
see my Avay through. ]Srath wasn’t the man to go back on 
the boys, and I’ve got a kind of a general opinion, that 
they was either enchanted or swallered. Xath iiadn’t eny 
pervision agin spirits, no tallyman or nothin ; .but he 
wasn’t the man to lose his matches or let his lamp go out. 
I’d jis as leave let one of them city detectives git ahead 
of me as hev a circunistauce on my mind as I couldn’t 
account for ; and I’ve about made up my mind to stop 
guessin and find out.” 

“How ? ” inquired the deferential man. 

“How? Why, by goin into the hole myself. The old 
feller didn’t spend his hull pile on a mortgage. He’s a 
miser, and a miser must have a pile somewhar which he 
can look at it and feel it. I’ve about got the thing figgered 
out in my mind, youngster.” 

“Wonder what Balford’s doin in here.” 

“Goin to see witch Perkins — wants to know how the 
suit’s goin afore its decided, I reckon. Ain’t nobody else 
for him to see.” 

“He’s the feller who made a hole in Jim Little’s shoul- 
der, ain’t he ? ” 

^‘Yes, and if Jim gits a sight of his body, he’ll puff a 
pellet at him, sure. He’s the same as shot Jenkins like- 
Avise. I hear he’s dead certain on the trigger, and fires at 
the drop. A man never gets a firstrate nerve ’till he’s 
killed his man. I never considered as I could trust my- 
self to do good shootin, until I got away with Pickney and 
he Avas my second.” 

“The elder man lighted his pipe and smoked Avith eii 
ergy ; the younger, overawed by the glory, partly expressed. 


148 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


and more fully implied by the remark of liis friend, with 
which his deeds had enshrouded him, remained silent. 
After Pickney, the second, third, fourth, fifth, etc., presum- 
ably followed. After a somewhat prolonged season of 
smoking and silence, the elder opened once more his orac- 
ular lips. 

‘‘The old boy lies no kin, and a miser, youngster, never 
makes a will, because he’s afraid to do it before he knows 
he’s going to shuffle off, and then its generally too late, 
lie's afeard them as he gives it to may find it out and snuff 
out his taper so’s to get it sooner. Besides they're opposed 
on principle to give it away. If he should die ” 

The wise man stopped suddenly and resumed his pipe. 
He contemplatively observed the clouds of smoke floating 
among the joists. 

“If he should die?” Inquired his companion. 

“Why, the suit would, what the lawyers call it, abate, 
stop, youngster. They’d go to advertisiii for kin, I reckon. 
But as there ain’t eny to turn up, it Avould be a mighty 
good thing for Balford. I’ve heard people say there ain’t 
anybody would be so glad as Balford if the old cha]) 
petered out. And if ho should suddenly peter out- 

The wise man again resumed his pipe and contempla- 
tive pose, and remained silent. 

“If he should suddenly peter out ? ” inquired his com- 
panion. 

“Why, folks mout say as he was petered out by Balfon", 
if somebody said it first.” 

“(xeorge,” said the younger and deferential man, arising 
from the block of wood that answered for a chair, with 
an intense look of admiration in his eyes, “George, you 
have a head.” 

“And a heart, my youthful wolverine, but I never brag 
on either,” responded the wise man modestly, while he 
continued his watch upon the smoke curling about the 
rafters. 


OLD ANTliOXY S SECRET. 


149 


CHAPTER XXI. 

THOMAS BALFORD LOOXS DESTINY IN THE FACE. IN THE 
AVITCIl’s CABIN. 

Thomas Balford's horse carried him straight to the house 
of witcli Perkins, atIio had left Adair a feAv liours before 
him. The old lady had heard the unfamiliar tramp of a 
horse, and had come out to gratify her curiosity. She 
stood at the gate and the animal, after traversing the un- 
broken wild, seemed to experience relief on beholding her 
and a human habitation. It came to a stand before her. 

“You are Thomas P»aiford,” she said, Avhile a look came 
into her eyes, that he had observed in the Court House 
where often she sat knitting and Avatching him. 

This gentleman of Adair raised his hat courteously and 
looked about him before he made reply. Around him 
stood the primeval forest. He was at the foot of a steep 
ridge and on tlie boundary of a narrow valley, scA^eral 
acres of which Avere fenced in and cultivated. Just Avithin 
the inclosure stood a comfortable log house, where the old 
lady livetl alone. He seemed confused for a moment. 

“Madam, this locality is not familiar to me ; and I have 
no idea of my Avhereabouts, except that I presume this is 
your residence, and I have been told that you live in the 
Wilderness.’’ 

“That is very true, sir. Y^ou are in the Aery center of 
the Wiiderness.” 

Not a very jileasant reflection, madam, for one Avho has 
no conception of his Avay out, Avhen I consider that it is 
now nearly six oclock,” said Thomas Balford, taking out 
his Avatch and startling himself by observing the lateness 
of tlie hour. 

“There’s a bright moon and a clear sky,” she replied 
sententiously. 


150 


OLD AXTHOXY S SF.CRET. 


^•I am asliamcd to ackiiowlcdge so great an abstraction, 
madam, as has permitted my horse to convey me hither 
without direction.” 

“Your liorse did not bring you liitlier without direction, 
Thomas Balford.” 

“Pej-mit me to say, madam, that however unreasonabh^ 
it may appear, I am not mistaken. He has certainly liad 
no guidance from me, else it would not have been in this 
direction.” 

“No, your horse was led by what some people, i)erhaps 
you, Thomas Balford, might call your destiny, but what I 
know to be spiritual forces. How else, think you, your 
horse, from among all the diverging paths, could have 
chosen at every point the particular ones that alone could 
have brought you here ? ” 

He was strongly imi)ressed with this view of the mat- 
ter, and never thought of the keen sense of smell which 
might have induced the horse to follow that path which 
Avas mainly trodden by human feet. He, hoAvever, did 
not know that it was the most direct route through the 
Wilderness, ov(‘r which men afoot and on horseback passed 
at intervals. I say he did not know, and therefore an- 
swered with some excitement. 

“Madam, you are right; it is destiny, and that I never 
expect or attempt to control. Either Avould be folly.” 

“Dismount, Thomas Balford, and come in. I have been 
ex})ecting you a long time.” 

“Thank you, madam, I will. I am curious toknowAvhat 
the future has in store for me.” 

“You want to know of the future, Thomas’ Balford,” she 
said, motioning liim to a seat in a comfortably furnished 
room. “The spirits are few who, still retaining the ability 
to communicate Avitli us, are progressed so far as to forsee 
the remote effects of transpired events.” 

She took a seat at a table opposite to her visitor, after 
she had produced a condition of gloom by letting down 
the blinds and closing the. doo'-. 


OLD AXTIIOXY S SECRET. 


151 


“Thomas Balford was so near that, notwithstanding the 
gloom, he could observe her rigidity of muscle, and the 
strange expression assumed by her features. Her eyes 
were Avide open and set in a blank stare. She had been 
so serious in all she said, she spoke with such coiifideuce 
she Avas so old, that he iieA^er doubted her honesty. He 
listened eagerly Avhen she began to sx^eak. 

“Your past and future are spread out dimly before me. 
Through an uidiending pride and selfsutRcieucy that hides 
from sight your own errors, your life has been a series 
of disappointments, and you have come to regard the 
Avorld as your enemy. I see you bending at the feet of 
beauty ; the bridal trousseau is prex)ared, but I do not hear 
the Avedding bells. Your affianced does not knoAAMAdiether 
she most loves or fears you. GraA^e Avhisxters reach her 
ears of hereditary insanity. The AA'cdding bells never 
gladdened your heart. I see you in the midst of an excited 
croAAul. There are x^istpl shots ringing in my ears. You 
discharge your weax)oii and a man falls dead. You are 
embarked in trade. Your fortune melts aAvay. I see you 
beating a man upon the street Avith your cane. I see him 
Avanderiug about the streets blind and in distress, until 
death releases him. Agaiir you have a x^i^^tol in your 
hand, and I see a man liiding behind the casing of an 
ornamental tree. He is a Avarm friend, x^Grhax)S your 
brother. Your bullets pierce the casing, but he is saved, 
and a brother's blood is not on your hands. LoA^e AA'arms 
your heart once moi*e. Another man tails before your 
pistol but surviA'cs. Your love is not reciiwocated, and 
fate disapxAoints your I’CA^'enge. Your sisters prox^erty is 
in jeox)ardy ; her health is inix^aired. She is the only be- 
ing in the Avorld tOAvard Avhom your heart yearns ; the only 
one Avhoso pain giA^es you sore distress, and Avhose death 
Avill leaA^e in your heart a wound incurable. Gloom gath- 
ers about A'ou. You can not drHe incix)ient despair out 
of A’^our soul. You beli(‘\' ‘ ''ovnr sister’s to be a just cause. 


152 


• OLD Anthony’s secret. 


but you have no faith in man. You anticipate the worst. 
Dare you look upon your future ? ” 

Thomas Balford raised his head proudly and uttered 
but one word in reply. It expressed his contempt of fear. 

^^Daref Madam, go on, if you please.” 

^‘Before the tribunals have decided her cause, your sis- 
ter will have passed away. When that decision is reached 
at last it will be adverse and crush out hope. You will 
cherish a dread resolve, that will appear like irresistible 
fate. Society will seem to require it at your hands and 
you will startle the world by a frightful deed which will 
render your.self and your cause notorious.” 

“And die in the act, Madam ? ” said Thomas Balford 
calmly. 

“No. You will live, but not to repent ” 

“I shall, in what I may do, have nothing to repent of, 
madam,” said he conlidently. 

“You will live, borne up by the strong conviction that 
you have been an instrument in the hands of Fate for so- 
ciety’s good, until in the shape of reform some measure of 
good may spring out of evil, through your sister’s cause. 
You will live, but not alone ; even prison bars can not ex- 
clude your companions, and your nightly visitors from the 
mystic world about us. Yon will be forsaken by friends 
and avoided by old acquaintances. Your punishment will 
be fearful; but strong in despair, you will endure to the 
end. You will die without a friend to pity you.” 

The old lady, with a few shiaigs of her shoulders, threw 
off her trance-like state real or assumed, and looked at her 
visitor. 

“You have received in regard to your destiny, Thomas 
Balford, all that has been received by me, be the same true 
or false.” 

“I am under obligation to yon, madam, although you 
have presented me with a gloomy prospect.” 

“Do you believe the predictions will be verified ?” 

“I have anticipated something very like what you have 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


153 


pronounced it, as my possible Tutiire, madam,” he replied 
rising from his seat. 

•'‘'Jhirn your liorse about, give him free rein and he 
will carry you safely out of the Wilderness, Thomas 
Balford.” 

He raised his hat and bowed gallantly to the old lady, 
as he passed over her threshold and bade lier good-bye. 
As his horse bore him away through the deepening shad- 
ows, he relapsed again into his mental absorption, and ex- 
perienc(*d something akin to a feeling of pleasure at hav- 
ing possessed himself of the secret decrees of destiny, not- 
withstanding they announced his own doom, as the result 
of some startling deed which he had not yet contemidated. 
He gloried in being able to look destiny fearlessly in the 
face 

‘•Fla, ha ! ” laughed witch Perkins, when he was out of 
sight “What you expect to come to pass, you will bring 
to pass. Henceforward you will consider what deed will 
best fulfill the decree. ” 


CHAPTER XXII. 

ANTHONY COMMUNICATES A SECRET TO MRS. HANNAH SAW- 
YER THAT COMFORTS HER ON HER DEATH BED. THE 
WITCH AGAIN. NATHANIEL GAUTIER BECOMES MOLLIE 

sawyer’s guardian. 

Mrs. Hannah Sawyer was indeed very sick. She had 
been contined to her bed for the last montli growing grad- 
ually weaker. A careful old negresshad been in constant 
attendance upon her; yet never a day had passed, which 
old Anthony had not at least partly spent in a protracted 
watch at her side. Xo mother could more tenflerly have 
ministered to her infant, than did the old miser to this 
woman, according to his ability. Yet they were not of 


OLD ANTHONY'S SECRET. 


lol 

kill, nor could she recall any event by which either she or 
Bartholomew had laid liiin under obligations ; and he had 
persisted in evading all explanation of his conduct, until 
her wasted body, and the gradual weakening of the vital 
forces, forced upon his mind the conviction that her days 
were numbered, and the end not afar off. Then the old 
man had told her his secret — revealed to her a history of 
the past, that made his conduct appear less strange, and 
enabled her to contemplate her death with less of dread 
on her child’s account. 

When the young gentleman of Adair, who having re- 
turned from Frankfort had been sent for by Anthony, en- 
tered and looked upon her, he was astonished and grieved. 
Her gentle disposition had made him fond of Mrs. Saw- 
}'er, and he saw at a glance that the message had already 
come out of the great unknown, that was to call her thence* 
She held out to him her emaciated hand and smiled upon 
him. 

“I’m glad you’ve come, Nathaniel,” she said in a faint 
voice. “I have been afraid that you would not be back in 
time, and there is something I Avant to say to you. Its 
about Mol lie.” 

“Give yourself no concern about her future. I pledge 
you my word as a gentleman that Mollie shall want for 
nothing. She shall be my mother’s child, my little sister, 
and her education and morals shall be looked after.” 

“You are generous, noble, Nathaniel.” The frail hand 
pressed his own, and emotion choked her utterance. Pres- 
ently she continued : 

“She will cost you nothing, only the care she will be to 
you. And your mother grows old.” 

“She drives care away. She is the joy of our lonesome 
house now.” 

“Anthony has told me why he has taken so great an in- 
terest in us, but I can not reveal it. He assures me that 
he will furnish the means necessary to support and edu- 


01.i> AXTllOXY S SECKET. 


155 


cate her, until she becomes eighteen years of age, and I 
am sure he will.” 

ril do it myself,” said the Gentleman of Adair, ‘^and 
the yearly allowance made by Antliony will amount to 
sufficient to ])urchase a comfortable home when she is 
eighteen. Jlepend upon it, between Anthony and ourselves, 
Mollie will not fare ill ; we all love her.” 

‘‘You comfort me very much, Nathaniel. I am very 
anxious that she shall not come under the control of my 
half sister or my father. lie cast me off while 1 was yet 
young, or he permitted my stepmother to do so, and Lizzie? 
who is now twenty-four years of age, has persistently 
ignored our kinship. 1 don’t care to inquire why she 
called upon mo lately, but I fear her object was not what 
she pretended.” 

“Perhaps she has been strongly prejudiced while young 
and taught to avoid you. She certainly a})pears most 
anxious to be re(*onciled.” 

“Oh, yes, she has been here, and Anthony discovered 
why. We are reconciled ; let us speak no more ^f her. 
I have but a few days more, Nathaniel. I hope your 
mother will come.” 

“Yes, she will come at once. Aunt Betsy, will you go 
and tell my mother to excuse herself to Miss Lizzie Math- 
ews, and come here for a little while? ” 

“Yes, Mars’i- Nat. Tell her to ’sense herself to Miss 
Lizzie, and come.” 

“Yes. She will understand that Miss Lizzie is not ex- 
pected to come,” he said to Mrs. Sawyer. 

“Only a few days, Nathaniel. Bartholomew is waiting 
for me. I see him often. He stands by my bed contin- 
ually. I have composed some lines for our headstone : — 

“Death frowned, and each by the side of the other they laid us to rest 
Life smiled, and we rose ere by cold clods of earth our coffins were pressed. 
Together we Avatch ; together Ave Avait, 

For our orphan to enter the pearly gate.” 


15G 


OLD Anthony’s secket. 


Thus did Mrs. Sawyer’s liarmless mania assert itself in 
her last moments. 

“You will see that we have a headstone, Nathaniel. How 
do you like the lines?” 

“I like them very much, Mrs. Sawyer. They will remind 
Mollie continually that she is immortal.” 

“When you want to use them, they will be found in the 
left hand drawer above of the bureau.” 

“I shall reverently respect your wish, Mrs. Sawyer.” 

Then, Mrs. Crautier, who had become warmly attached 
to the child, came in and heartily assented to all that her 
son had promised. 

But where was old Anthony Grater ? It was he who 
had written Nathaniel Gautier that he wished to see him 
immediately upon his arrival, and he was not present to 
meet him. He must have known too that he would be 
home shortly after noon ; for the report had been circulat- 
ing since morning that the idol of the hamlet would be 
back by two o’clock at the farthest. 

Anthony had gone out after dinner, up on to the moun- 
tain side among the graves with old Hamp for a com- 
panion. We have seen that the one unmarked grave con- 
tained the romance of the old man’s life. Anthony had 
been carefully looking about him as he labored up the in- 
cline, followed by the negro. 

“Foah de Lawd, Mars’r Grater, I’se alius goin de wrong- 
way wen I goes up hill. De abrasions ob des missable 
bundle ob bones keeps a sayin dat all de time.” 

“How old are you, Hampton White — I say, how old ? 

“I’se eighty-free come dis summer some time, chile.” 

‘•And I am seventy-live. I ought to live eight years 
longer, until I’m as old as you — I say, until I'm eighty- 
three. But my sight is failing me. Do you see any daisies 
or spring violets about us, Hampton White? It is time for 
them among the timber, and I am fond of the early blos- 
soms — I say, I'm fond of them.” 

“Lawd lub you, so war I wen I war young, chile, foaii 


OLD ANTHONY’S SECRET. 


157 


de smelliii machineiy got out ob order. Dey’s mighty 
scase yet I reckon.” 

‘We will try and find some, Hampton White.” Where- 
upon they began a deliberate search, both muttering the 
while. Said Hamp to himself: 

“Dis yars a mighty quare busineff sho, foah Mars’r Gra- 
ter and ole Hamp, a searchin foah flowah.s among de rocks 
and timber. I’se mighty feared some one will see me. 
Dey’ll think de ole niggah’s done gone plumb crazy, sho. 
De head gear, fank de Lawd, hah done kept in order up 
to dis time. Dar, dars one sho, mighty neah sot one ob 
my number twelve’s on it. Dey’s drefful little, and its a 
drefful little busineff, ’sides its wearin on de back. Ef dey 
war foah medicine, I could reconcile de reflections ob my 
intellect to de abrasions ob dat idear, yah, yah ! ” And the 
old negro with difficulty held together in his trembling 
fingers the diminutive stems of the flowers he had gathered, 

“She has been always pleased with them,” said Anthony 
as he arranged those he had gathered into what he con- 
sidered a shapely boquet, which he held off at arm’s 
length to gaze at. 

“Hampton White — I say, Hampton White, have you 
found any" flowers ? ” 

“I hab dat, Mars’r Grater, jis a few ; but its mighty dis- 
tressin a huntin foah em.” 

“Well, bring them to me. ^We have enough, Hampton 
White — I say", we have enough.” 

Anthony received the negro’s contribution and spent a 
little time in remodeling his boquet, while Hamp stood 
observant. 

“Is yo goin to fix dat in yo button hole, chile ? ” 

“Its none of your business — I say", mind your business^ 
Hampton White.” 

With the boquet in his hand, Anthony slowly strolled 
about among the graves followed by the negro. He stop- 
ped by the unmarked grave and laid the flowers upon it. 


158 


OLD ANTHOXY S SECRET. 


‘•They’ll wilt iu my hand, and I’ll leave them until I 
return,” he said. 

“He wants to take em home to little Dewdrop and her 
rnudder, 1 reckon,” muttered Jlamp. They went oil a 
short distance and seated themselves upon some blocks of 
limestone. It was about one o’clock. The sun shone 
bright and warm; the young grass was green and fresh; 
a grateful fragrance pervaded the air, and the wild birds 
were chirping and Hitting among the bare branches. Be- 
low them lay Adair, the diminutive stage upon which the 
old men had played their several parts in life. Both were 
silent and apparently lost in reverie. They did not notice 
that a third person had entered the graj^eyard, a woman. 
She had come down the mountain by one of the paths that 
led into Adair. It was the mysterious woman of the 
Wilderness. She went straight to where Anthony was 
seated and standing before him said: 

“There is a sclieme afoot to rob and murder you.’^ 

“To rob me, woman? What do you mean— :! say, what 
do you mean ? ” 

“You must never stay alone in your hovel yonder an- 
oflier night.” 

Then the old woman turned and left him abruptly. His 
treasure threatened, and his life ! Anthony Grater was 
sorely distressed, as followed by Hamp, he descended the 
mountain side, on his way to the hamlet. But he had a 
world of energy and self-reliance of which age had not 
yet robbed him. 

“Yillains ! ” he exclaimed. The work will prove less 
easy than you think. I’ll take safe measures — I say. I’ll 
make preparation.” 

He made his way directly to the bedside of Hannah 
Sawyer. 

He arrived while Mrs. Gautier was present and beck- 
oned Nathaniel Gautier into another room. 

The young legislator shook the old man’s hand warmly. 

“I am right glad to see ” ' 


OLD AXTUOXY's secret. 


159 


“\es, yes, never iniiid — I say, never mind, ]Srathaniel 
Gautier, I’ve something to say,” said Anthony cutting oft' 
his young friend’s compliment at its inception. “Hannali 
Sawyer will be gone in a few days, and the child, Nathan- 
iel Gautier, will require a guardian. I am too old, I 
may die.” 

^^Yes, we have promised that she shall have her home 
with us, and want for nothing.” 

“I shall see that she wants for notliing— say, I will 
provide for her. She must have a legal guardian ; I have 
my reason. Ilannali Sawyer’s will is made, and executed, 
but the guardian’s name is yet to be inserted. She owns 
this property, Nathaniel Gautier. I am her executor. I 
want your name inserted as guardian. But I’m afraid 
you’ll be like other young fools — I say, I’m afraid you 
will marry in haste and repent at leisure. I don’t know 
who your wife may be, nor how she might treat Mollie 
Sawyer, when your mother and myself are dead.” 

“I think you need have no fear on that score,” said Na- 
thaniel Gautier. 

“Yes, yes, Alice Balford is past hope; but you’ll forget 
her before the leaves are come and gone.” 

“Mr. Grater!” began the young Gentleman of Adair. 
He was angry. It seemed a harsh, untrue and uncalled for 
utterance ; while the close watch kept upon him by the 
old man which it evidenced, excited his curiosity. 

“Tut, tut ! Nathaniel Gautier, I’ve watched Alice Bal- 
ford. She is one to admire, not to love — I say, she is not 
one to love, and you’ll be able to pass judgment on your- 
self bye and bye. Think of it as you will, can you prom- 
ise me not to marry before Mollie Sawyer is sixteen years 
of age, if she lives so long ? ” 

“I could promise, if I thought such a promise necessary,” 
said the young Gentleman of Adair stifily. 

“It is necessary — I say, it is ; I have good reason.’^ 

Well, sir, I can give you that.” 

“It will be a hard promise to keep — I say, it will be 


160 


OLD ANTHONY S SECRET. 


hard to keep, but you will be glad you have made it, N’a- 
tlianiel Gautier. Your guardianship will cease with your 
marriage. But I don’t want it to cease. You are an hon- 
orable young man and she will improve in your society.” 

“I am gratified by the expression of your good opinion.” 

“See that you continue to deserve it — I say, that’s more 
important.” 

Thus ended their interview, and the will was shortly 
afterwards completed by the insertion of the name of 
Nathaniel Gautier as guardian. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

A VERDICT AND A DEATH. DARK THREATS. NATHANIEL 

Gautier’s heart in altce balford’s coffin. 

Circuit Court is again in session. It is the trial term of 
Grater vs. Balford. Judge Elcott had already decided ad- 
versely to the defendant on several vital points in the case- 
Messrs Springer and Foxine, had been considering the 
question of a change of venue. It seemed absolutely 
necessary ; yet when they had presented for the inspection 
of Thomas Balford an affidavit which they had prepared 
for that purpose, and which they expected Miss Alice to 
swear to Avherein it was alleged that the Court and com- 
munity were prejudiced against defendant, and a fair trial 
could not be had in that Court, Thomas Balford took a 
little time to square it by his eode, and informed his law- 
yers that Alice, he knew, would not swear to it nor admit 
its truth, and neither would he for her. Thereupon Mr. 
Springer addressed the Court. 

“Your Honor, we feel that a change of venue in thi« 
case to some other county outside of your Honor’s juris- 
diction is necessary. I hold in my hand an affidavit which 
we would be very loth to have sworn to and tiled.” 


OLD ANTHONY'S SECRET. 


161 


This proposition startled Judge Free and fell^like a 
thunderbolt upon old Anthony, who arose to his feet ex- 
claiming : — 

“I am too old to go gadding about the country. Its de- 
lay you seek — I say, its delay and not justice. You want 
to postpone the suit until 1 die, tliat you may eat the place 
up in fees.” 

‘'Sit down if you please, Mr. Grater,” said Judge Free. 

have had occasion to tell you before that you must ex- 
press yourself through your counsel. You will demoraF 
ize our excellent system of practice by such attacks, and 
give it a bad name. A change of venue is a very ancient 
provision, that enables a suitor to avoid being made the 
victim of local prejudice, or a dishonest judiciary. A 
suitor must be guaranteed an impartial jury ” 

"But there. is no jury in the case — I say, there is none 
wanted.” 

"Yes, sir, the facts assure us that no jury will be re- 
(piired, but we have no right to be guided by the facts ; we 
must look to the papers, we must be guided by principle. 
We know all the facts, and we know it is purely a ques- 
tion of law, but must proceed upon the assumption that 
the alleged fraud may be a mixed question of law and 
fact. If the Court permitted itself to look at all the facts 
in deciding principles, justice could no longer be symbol- 
ized as blind. It behooves, especially the highest tribunal 
of resort, the Supreme Court, to be very blind. We canT 
afford to open the eyes of justice, Mr. Grater ; it would 
ruin our profession. Being blind, it takes her a long time 
to feel her way through such a complex question as this.” 
;Tt is not complex at all — I say, it’s not. You could ex- 
plain it on one side of a sheet of paper, and a Judge could 
write his decision on the other, and all in an hour — I say, 
in an hour.” 

"I was about to say, your Honor, before Mr. Grater’s 
interruption, that the progress of justice, being blind, is 
necessarily slow. What matters if the life of this old 


162 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


man, or a dozen lives are expended, Justice must not be 
urged into unseemly haste. She must have time for ma- 
ture deliberation. Therefore, if the proper affidavit is 
prepared and filed by the defense, the code gives the 
change of venue, and the old lady. Madam Justice, will 
have a much longer time in which to make up her mind. 
It does not distress me, your Honor. I shall take a younger 
man with me into the case, who will be able, to continue 
it after I am dead or arrived at my three score and ten.” 

‘‘Its the third year — I say, its the third year,” muttered 
Anthony.” 

“Gentlemen, I have good reasons why T am not disposed 
to sit in this case. There are able lawyers present and 
you can resort to the statutory provision of electing a 
Judge pro temr 

Judge Elcott thereupon came down from the bench, and 
on request of both parties, Mr. Randall, from a neigh- 
boring county, finally ugreed to sit, and the case was pro- 
ceeded with. After a tedious -trial, the decision was given 
for the plaintiff. Springer and Foxine gave notice of an 
appeal, and it was continued. 

“Must it go to the Supreme Court again ? ” inquired 
Anthony, in despair. 

“If the appeal is perfected, certainly.” 

“And what then. Judge Free, what then?” 

“Why, if the verdict is sustained, we can issue an exe- 
cution and collect the money, sometime before next term.” 

But the appeal was not to be taken immediately, nor 
was the case of Grater vs. Balford to be disposed of sum- 
marily. Thomas Balford accepted the decision with appa- 
rent resignation — it was fate. Yet he was clear’y of the 
opinion that Fate was employing knaves and fools and ^ 
vicious science to work out an adverse destiny for himself 
and sister. So potently, in their interview, had the witch 
of the Wilderness worked upon his fancy, that notwith- 
standing he was fully persuaded of the justice of his sis- 
ter’s cause and her legal rights, he anticipated an adverse 


OLD ANTHONY S SECUET. 


163 


decision, and gave no evidence of astonishment when the 
judgment was pronounced. When Fate dealt a blow, it 
did not become a Balford to wince. He wore a thought- 
ful face when he came out of the Court room. Mounting 
his horse and as was frequently his practice he rude 
out of the hamlet at a breakneck pace. Why should he 
consider consequences who was so utterly in the hands of 
Fate. He overtook Nathaniel Gautier on the way, and 
they rode together to Balford’s unhappy home, both 
anxious to be at the side of Alice. 

Her voice was faint, so low that Nat inclined his ear to 
her lips to listen, while he held in his own her transparent 
hand which she had extended to give him welcome. 

“You are returned barely in time, Mr. Gautier, to bid 
me a long farewell.’’ 

“I am more sadly disappointed than I can tell, Alice, to 
find you so low.” 

“Everything is as it should be, Mr. Gautier. I could 
hardly have become reconciled to life. I can to death, 
which I feel is very near.” 

Thomas Balford kissed his sister and went out. They 
could hear iiini walking back and forth upon the piazza. 
Alice had learned to determine by the energy manifested 
in his stride, the intensity of his feelings. 

“'Poor Tom. He has been always of a strange disposi- 
tion ; and since he has known I must leave him, I have 
been fearful lest his reason should give way. We have 
been everything to each other. What has transpired at 
the Court House, Mr. Gautier?” 

“I pity him with all my heart,” said Nathaniel Gautier. 
He felt at the moment a sorrow too deep for utterance on 
his own account. She had exhausted her power of si^eech^ 
but he felt a slight pressure of her hand. He received it 
as an expression of her thanks for his sympathy. 

“Thanks, kind friend,” she said after a little. “You 
would hide from me the fact that judgment has gone 
against me. It can do no harm now. They pronounced 


164 


OLD ANTHONY'S SECRET. 


sentence of death against me some time ago, and this only 
determines the hour. I know there is a judgment against 
me. Tom’s actions tell me all. Poor Tom ! ” She raised 
partially up toward a sitting posture on her couch and ex- 
claimed : “I Avould kill myself, Mr. Gautier, rather than 
survive the humiliation and disgrace to follow, and death 
conies in the gai-h of a friend. Poor Tom.” She lay back 
on her pillow and remained quiet. 

At length she opened her lips as if to speak, but breath 
did not come with her Avish. The enfeebled lungs had 
ceased their functions. There Avas a gasp, a shudder. Na- 
thaniel Gautier pressed a kiss upon her broAV, and laid the 
lifeless hand by her side. It seemed to him at the mo- 
ment as if all the sunshine had gone out of his soul, and 
its glories departed from the Avorld. His heart, he felt 
quite sure, must be buried Avith Alice Balford. A verse 
sprang to his lips and found expression : 

“Although you can never be mine, 

Although even hope is denied ; 

’Tis sweeter for thee despairing, 

Than aught in the world beside.’’ 

She had told him once that she believed he would quote 
poetry if he Avere dying, and he had replied, “Not if you 
Avere, Alice.” He had thought his feelings would be too 
intense for expression, save in tears and moans, and at 
least they Avould be too sacred for expression in borroAved 
language. He never thought of that, however, but re- 
membered Avhat the Avitch of the Wilderness had said, 
“Fate has chosen you a Avife.” He Avondered Avho it could 
be, and hoAV Fate Avould manage to compel him to marry 
her. Then Lizzie MatheAVS came into his mind in that con- 
nection. He Avent out onto the piazza Avhere Thomas 
Balford continued to Avalk back and forth, and standing 
before him as he advanced, pointed silently in the direc- 
tion in Avhich Alice lay. Then Thomas Balford taking his 
young friend’s arm went in. 

“We tAvo at least loAmd her, Mr. Gautier,” he said. He 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


165 


bent down by her side and remained there some moments 
weeping. When he arose there was neither expression of 
love, nor trace of sorrow on his face, but a look of unre- 
lenting sternness. He pointed solemnly at her dead body, 
exclaiming : 

^‘You lie there, my sister, robbed of your sweet life. 
It has been slowly ground out by that cumbersome and 
intricate machinery misnamed a Court of justice, by means 
of which fraud thrives, and judicial robbery is effected 
upon all alike. The winners lose often, and Injustice 
has her triumphs in every cause. You were the first victim 
in the Cause of Grater rs. Balford ; yet the world will 
never attribute your death to its true cause. Yes, you are 
the first, but not the last. It shall have other victims ; 
and the startled world shall know that along with despair, 
which is the outcome of the science of delay, lurks death, 
remorseless death. That decree has already been en- 
tered on the books of Fate, and a terrible deed shall 
attest it.” 

Nathaniel Gautier listened in astonishment, and looked 
upon him wonderingly. lie was terrible. He showed 
110 excitement, his voice was low and clear, his face calm, 
cold and expressionless, but there was an ^Tltiia within 
from which a lava tide of words came burning, burning, 
Nat propounded mentally the question. “Is Thomas Bal- 
ford sane ? ” and Thomas Balford answered it by a calm 
and sober request. 

“My sister will be buried in Woodford among her 
friends and relatives. Will you oblige me, Mr. Gautier, 
by sending the new undertaker here immediately on your 
return ? ” 


166 


OLD ANTHONY'S SECRET. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

MOLLIE BIDS FAREWELL TO ADAIR.. 

Hannah Sawyer has passed peacefully away, and her 
body has been laid by the side of her husband’s. Mollie 
is domiciled at the house of Mrs. Gautier, whom her own 
Mama had told her, just before she died, she must call 
mother. Her own Mama had become a spirit and gone on 
a visit among the stars to meet her father. She would be 
gone a long, long time. The child had found the i)ain 
of separation almost too intense for her young nature to 
endure, and she had asked God to please let her go with 
■ her mother; but her request had not been complied Avitli, 
and she had become somewhat reconciled to her fate by 
the promise of her mother, who believed in the ministra- 
tions of ancestral spirits, and their ability to make them- 
selves known, that she would come again, and talk with 
her if she could. Except that it separated her from those 
slie loved, she recognized nothing unpleasant in death. It 
had no arrows. She had her own little room in the Gau- 
tier house, where she had carefully and tastefully arranged 
all the mementos of her own Mama, who loved to see 
everything in order. Therefore she would have it so that 
the sight of tliern might gratify her, when the nightly 
expected visit sliould at last be made. However, in youth 
an unrealized expectation is soon dismissed. Hope is ever 
on the wing, and when one object of desire grows dim» 
her bright eyes rest instantly upon another. Her mother 
did not come, and week by week expectancy died out, un- 
til she was put away in one of the unused chambers of 
memory, never to be forgotten, occasionally to be recalled ; 
earl v Impressions are lasting. After a month had elapsed^ 
she had, through the suggestions of her guardians, that is 
the Gautiers and old Anthony, ent(‘red upon a routine of 
duties. Madam Gautier had found a place for her in her 


OLD ANTnOXY'3 SECRET. 


167 


domestic economy, where some hours of each day could 
he prolitably employed. The young Geutleman of Adair 
had arranged for her a course of study in which he played 
the role of teacher. 

Day after day as Spring ripened into Summer, old An- 
thony and his charge would wander together among 
the limestone monuments and deposit their offerings of 
flowers upon the graves of Mollie’s parents and the mys- 
terious mound. The old man would seat himself near 
the latter, and listen to the child’s prattle as she arranged 
the blossoms they had perchance brought from his garden 
or gathered in their walk. He would watch her curiously 
and with evident delight, as she placed a leaf here or a 
flower there in her efforts to harmonize colors and j^roduce 
symmetry of form in the tout ennemble. 

‘^Now, isn’t that nice. Grandpa Anthony. And its so 
sweet — ^just smell it.” 

Slie held it off at the length of her little arm and in- 
clined her head to one side, so cunningly in admiration, 
then thrust it suddenly under the old man’s nose. 

‘‘Yes, yes, you are very fond of flowers too, Mollie Saw- 
yer — I say, you are fond of them.” 

lie would look into space just over the grave often, and 
with his hand upon the child’s head mutter to himself 
The past and present w^ere connected in his thoughts. By 
links of memory and affection he seemed bound, by her 
who had lain for half a century in the unmarked tomb, to 
the child at his side. 

•T shall have to come here alone, Mollie Sawyer, tor 
some time to come — I say. I’ll bring the flowers alone.” 

Mollie looked up bewildered. 

'‘But, Grandpa Anthony, T must come with you to put 
the flowers on the graves. Mama and Papa would be very 
sad if I didn’t come.” 

“But you must go to school — I say, its time,” replied 
Anthony 

- “Now, do be good, Grandi)a Anthony, and don’t send 


168 


OLD ANTHOXY’s secret. 


me away. I am studying as hard as ever I can, and no 
one can teach me like Nat.’^ 

“But Nathaniel Gautier is going away to make speeches 
soon. After the election he may go to Frankfort, and I 
can’t teach you as a little girl ought to be taught — I say, I 
don’t know how to do it. But Nathaniel Gautier wdll 
bring you back again in two months to stay six weeks, 
and we will gather the flowers again, then — I say, we will 
bring them together, then.” 

“I shall be very sorry to go away from you and Nat and 
Mother Gautier,” she said. 

“But you must have an education, Mollie Sawyer — I say, 
you must go to school.” 

He took the child’s hand in his, and they went back to 
Mrs. Gautier’s. He addressed the child’s youthful guar- 
dian in his usually abrupt manner. 

“You must take her to a boarding school, Nathaniel 
Gautier ; its time. She is getting to be a large girl — I say, 
she will be a young lady in a little time. The years .grow 
very short with me now.” 

“You will take me yourself, Nat, won’t you ?” 

She put her arms lovingly about his neck. 

“Yes, Lily blossom, myself, but when and where, Mr. 
Grater?” 

“To Daughter’s College in Mercer County, day after 
tomorrow,” said Anthony, as he took from the pocket of 
his ancient coat a pamphlet issued by that excellent in- 
stitution. 

‘•Well, to Daughters College we go, Lily blossom, if 
Grandpa Anthony says so. I suspect you will be very 
much at home there and well contented from all I have 
heard of it.” 

But tlie tears came into the child’s eyes as she replied: 

“You know I won’t feel at home away from you all, Nat ; 
but I must go to school, I suppose.” And her clinging 
arms tightened about the neck of the young Gentleman 
of Adair. 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


169 


Amid the glory of the warm sunshine that flooded the 
mountain side, streamed over her white dress, and lighted 
up as with a halo her glossy hair and innocent face, 
more angelic for the look of sadness upon it, little- Mollie 
Sawyer well symbolized some ministering spirit, come 
from a subliiner and purer world to commune with the 
denizen’s of earth. Little less pure as we know, she was 
a spirit of earth come to visit those who had put on their 
spiritual bodies before she would leave for school. 

‘•Mama and Papa,” she said: “I have come to bid you 
good-bye. You mustn’t be lonesome because I am going 
away to school. You know I must get a good education, 
and Grandpa Anthony will bring flowers and come to talk 
to you and tell you all about me. Just as soon as I get 
back I’ll come with flowers too. I'll only be gone two 
months the first time, Mama. I’ve come to-day because 
we’ll be very busy tomorrow getting ready for me to go. 
So good-bye, and don’t be lonesome.” 

Then sIh? tripped back to the village in time to see her 
young guardian riding out, on his way to the home of 
Lizzie Mathews whom he had promised to visit. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


MISS LIZZIE MAKES A BOLD ASSAULT UPON THE AFFEC- 
TIONS OF THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN OF ADAIR. 

Lizzie Mathews was on the outlook for Mr. Gautier’s 
arrival. She saw him dismount at the horse block, and 
give his animal in charge to the colored servant. She 
met him with smiles half way down the gravelled path. 

“Oh, Mr. Gautier, you are very welcome to our gloomy 
old house.” 

“Thanks, Miss Lizzie, but I don’t see how your house 
finds any excuse for being gloomy, when it holds so much 
sunshine continually. 


170 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


“There, flatterer! You know the sliadows liover always 
about those who are louely. You will banish them for 
awhile.” 

Miss Lizzie looked very tenderly into the eyes of the 
young Gentleman of Adair and placed her hand in liis. 
Of course she must have known that his heart was in 
Alice Balford’s coffin, and could never come into his pos- 
sesion. At least he tried to so persuade himself, notwith- 
standing he felt thrilled by the glance of her eye and the 
touch of her hand. He felt an impulse also to retain her 
hand in his, and on this occasion she permitted it to linger. 

Thus they had entered among the shadows of the ever- 
greens ; the while he recklessly poured forth his compli- 
ments after his manner. She laid her hand upon his shoul- 
der and brought her face close to his. Her eyes flamed 
with passion and hot tears gathered upon their lids. The 
tones of her voice, too. were tremulous and pleading. 

“Oh, Mr. Gautier, why do you mock me with flattery 
and pretense, when you know that an honest word of praise 
or affection from your lips would be worth all the world 
to me.” 

The close proximity of her tearful and beautiful face^ 
her parted lips her beseeching eyes — well, he was a man 
and a gentleman, a young man. His promise to the old 
miser was very hard to keep. It held him only as by a 
gossamer thread, very easy to be broken it seemed just 
then. But he hapx)ened to remember that old Anthony 
liad said : “Your father always kept his promises.” What 
would become of the honor of the Gautier family that 
had been given into his keeping. The gravestones on the 
mountain and the logs of the old house would reproach 
him. Au indefinable suspicion of Lizzie Mathews’, frank- 
ness had suddenly found a lodgment in his mind. He 
passed his hand over his brow ; he was confused, but only 
for a moment. Her assault upon his affections had been 
too sudden. When she lifted up her head, he kissed her 
lightly and soberly on the brow, and said very seriously : 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


171 


in sorry, Miss Lizzie, to grieve yon, and happy at the 
same time to know that you value my friendship so highly. 
\ on know that my heart is in Alice Balford's coffin. 

“Forgive me, and do not despise me for the weakness 
that has discovered to you that my heart is also in Alice 
Baltord s coffin. Good-bye, Mr. Gautier ; I don’t think you 
could bring sunshine into the old house to-dav.” 

Mis^ Lizzie smiled faintly through her tear< and held 
out her hand to the young Gentleman of xidair. He felt 
the impulse once more to throw his arras about her; for 
now a doubt had forced its way into his mind, a doubt if 
his heart were really in Alice Balford’s coffin. Tie raised 
her hand in reply, to his lips, turned on his heel and de- 
parted. 

‘•I’ll get that heart of his out of Alice Balford's coffin,’^ 
she said as she passed before the mirror, then broke forth 
into a joyous carol. She felt light-hearted as a mocking 
bird. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

SOLD UNDER THE HAMMER. OLD ANTHONY GROWS VIN- 
DICTIVE, BUT STILL HIDES HIS SECRET. 

I simply desire to note by the way the fact that the 
Brock family have returned, with Minnie in perfectly re- 
stored health, and that she and Elcott having been mar- 
ried, have gone on a wedding tour carrying with them 
the good wishes of all not excepting even Thomas Bal- 
ford. He seems to hold no ill will against his successful 
rival. Although he moderated the transport of Mrs. El- 
cott by the remark that dire calamity often followed close 
upon the heels of great joy. He hoped, however, it might 
never overtake her. Xo doubt Thomas Balford merely 
reflected his own experience. Long afterwards his words 


172 


OLD Anthony's SB^iiST. 


were recalled, under circumstances that seemed to prove 
them to have been of proidietic import. 

The sheriff had advertised the Balford place for sale, at 
public vendue at the Court House door. Time had ren- 
dered James Mathews very uneasy, since it had swelled 
the original debt of thirteen thousand dollars, by interest 
at ten per cent, and costs accumulated since the making of 
the notes seven years before, to nearly twenty-three, thous- 
and dollars, an amount that exceeded by several thousand 
dollars the real value of the place. Indeed, on sale it 
would hardly bring, he feared, one-half the amount under 
the hammer. Miss Lizzie Mathews' beautiful home was 
bound for the balance. It Avas James Mathews’ home. 
Were it taken a^vay he would be little better than a beg- 
gar in his old age. His only hope lay in Anthony Grater. 
He wa.s upon the rack of suspense, and sought frequent 
interviews Avith Anthony in order to induce him to accept 
the Balford place for his debt. The old men sat face to 
face the day preceding the sale. 

“We are old men,” said James MathcAvs, “and we Avere 
young men together.” 

“Yes, yes, I have knoAvn you a long time, James Math- 
CAVS — I say, Ave have been acquainted a very long time ; t 
remember when I first came to the country, I rented this 
place from your father-in-law. We became acquainted 
then, and it’s a long time ago.” 

Anthony’s eyes seemed for a moment to have a vindict- 
ive gleam in them, as they wandered over the person of 
his visitor. Then they fell upon the floor and the miser 
seemed lost in reverie. 

“We are long past the age, Avhen money getting can 
afford ns pleasure- Besides such old friends ought to do 
each other^kindly offices.” 

“Yes, yes, I did you a good turn, James Mathews, I lent 
you a very large sum of money, and I am nearly Avorn out 
in my efforts to get it back I have not got it yet ; I never 
expect to.” 


OLD antiIony's secret. 


173 


‘TTou will get its value with interest. The old place is 
worth far more than the debt, interest and costs.” 

“It’s not worth nearly as much — I say, its worth only 
about eighteen thousand dollars. That’s its real value.” 

“You might bid up to the amount of your debt on it, 
old friend. Look at me. I’m like yourself, Anthouy, 
with one foot in the grave, I only want the comforts of 
life in my old age. Y^'ou wouldn’t deprive me of them, 
Anthony ? And my child ; you have neither kith nor 
kin to leave your money to. Be generous, Anthony. Take 
the old place, and an old friend’s blessing, and release my 
daughter’s home.” 

James Mathews seized Anthony’s hands in his and 
looked pleadingly into his face. That face was hard and 
unrelenting, and his words were cold. 

“Y’^ou don’t know, James Mathews, what even a good 
man’s blessing may be worth — I say, you don’t know. Y^ou 
have enjoyed a long life, a life of pleasure ; mine has been 
one of hardships and privations — I say, of privations, and 
when I ought to have been using my money for my ease 
and pleasure, I have had it locked up all these years to 
prolong your happiness. I’ll make it bring as much as 
possible, James Mathews ; but I want money — I say, I 
must have money.” 

“Won’t you bid the amount of your debt on it? I’ll pay 
the attorney’s fee and costs.” 

“And have me go without money, James Mathews? Xo, 
no! I have need of money, but I’ll make it bring as much 
as possible — I say, as much as possible.” 

James Mathews pleaded in vain. It appeared to be no 
part of Anthony’s scheme to oblige his old acquaintance. 
On the contrary he seemed to enjoy his old friend’s an- 
guish, and particularly his humility. He loved to hear 
his old friend plead so well that he was unable entirely 
to suppress a smile. 

“You have run a merry course,” he said. ‘Wes, yes, a 
merry course, and a little trouble goes very hard with you, 


174 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


James Mathews. I have had troubles all my life, and 
nobody has known of them — I say, I’ve kept them to 
myself. Nobody has otfered me comfort or consolation. 
You never came to my relief, James Mathews, and weVe 
known each other a long time. But I came to your aid 
with thirteen thousand dollars, ha, ha! Yes, I came to 
your aid.'’ 

There was a peculiar inflection of the tones of Anthony’s 
voice, that boded no good to James Mathews. The latter 
hopeless of good results from his own efforts, sent Miss 
Lizzie to plead with' him. If a beautiful young lady in 
tears was not able to soften the old miser’s heart, it must 
be a very obdurate organ indeed. Her dramatic talent 
was much superior to that of her father. She knelt grace- 
fully and supplemented entreaty with tears; but the old 
miser com[)letely spoiled that young lady’s rehearsal, by 
gruffly remarking : 

^•Get up, Lizzie Mathews — I say, get up. I don’t pre- 
tend to be a judge of good acting, besides if I did, I’ve had 
too much of tragedy when I was . young to appreciate it 
now — I say, I’ve had too much. You were among the 
guests at the Governor's feast ? ” 

“Yes, sir, I was there.’’ 

“I’ve heard it was a grand display, and that the young 
Secretary of State was greatly admired — I say, I have 
heard it.’’ 

“You have heard only the truth, sir ; Mr. Gautier was 
the soul of the party.” 

“Yes, I dare say ; and the young ladies will be teasing 
him to become their lover — I say, you are all much taken 
with Nathaniel Gautier.” 

“Do you mean to include me, Mr. Grater ? ” 

“Yes, yes, you are one of his correspondents — I say, you 
write letters to him, and are very much in love with Na- 
thaniel Gautier.-^’ 

“Mr. Grater, I am quite at a loss to understand why you 
interest yourself in such matters.” 


OLD AXTIIONY's secret. 


175 


“Why not, — I say, why should I not take an interest in* 
tlie lives ot other people ? I have an interest in yours, Liz- 
zie Mathews, and in Nathaniel Gautier’s. If you should 
marry each other I should lose all interest in hotli of you. 
If you don’t; I intend you some good, Lizzie Matliews— -I 
say, I intend you some good.” 

“Do you think I should not marry Mr. Gautier? I don't 
know Ayhy, I’m sure. I have never had anyone to advise 
me, Mr. Grater. You know my father has been absorbed 
by his follies, and left me entirely to the guardianship of 
strangers. You are a man of great wisdom and discre- 
tion, Mr. Grater; advise me.” 

The old man smiled. Whether it was because the girl’s 
craftiness amused him, or her flattery pleased, could not 
be determined from his answer. 

“You would praise each other for a month. Then you 
would utter sarcasms all the rest of your lives — I say, you 
would be unhappily mated. Get another lover — I say, 
get another.” 

“But lovers are not plenty, Mr. Grater. I could cease 
my correspondence with Mr. Gautier, if you>have a good 
reason and advise me sincerely.” 

“Very well, I do — I say, I do.” 

“It is a most momentous matter, Mr. Grater, but you 
say you intend good to me, and I believe you. If you give 
me leave I will consult you often ; I need a counselor.” 

“Very well you may come — I say, I’ll advise you. Good- 
day, Lizzie Mathews.” 

“I’ve got on his blind side,” said Lizzie Mathews as 
she left the gate. 

“She’s a cunning jade. Yes, yes, she’s very cunning,” 
muttered Anthony. 

“But I’ll only change the post oflice, ha, ha!” laughed 
Lizzie Mathews. 

“She’ll play false — I say, she’s not to be trusted,” croaked 
Anthony. 

The next day the Balford place was knocked down to 


176 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


to Anthony Grater at ten thousand dollars. Thomas Bal- 
ford had stood upon the Court House steps, and after the 
sheriff had announced the place for sale, addressed the 
crowd. 

“Gentlemen, in order that no one may be deceived, I de- 
sire to say, that a petition is now pending in this Court for 
an injunction to restrain the sheriff from selling. The 
right of appeal exists and the whole of the proceedings of 
the Court may be set aside. I formally forbid the sale.” 

After this there was no one to bid, and Anthony could 
as well have had it for five as ten thousand. Ten thous- 
and was less than two-thirds of its value, and the law 
allowed Thomas Balford’s niece, to whom Alice had willed 
it at Tom’s request, a year in which to redeem it. 

In the court room, Messrs Springer and Foxine had 
filed their petition for an injunction based on the right of 
appeal still existing. It turned upon the question, whether 
the section of the code, allowing to minors a year after 
they became of age, in which to appeal applied to the case. 

“Your Honor,” said Jude Free to the newly elected 
Judge, “Justice Has been going very lame in this case.” 

“It’s going on five years — I say, five, and the farce of 
speedy jnstice is a disgrace to civilization,” exclaimed 
Anthony. 

“Your pardon, Mr. Grater, I believe I have been rec- 
ognized by the Court. I say, justice has been going some- 
what more lame than usual in this case. The plaintiff 
here and perhaps the defendant, a most estimable young 
lady, over whose death this whole community grieved, 
have had their whole fortune, or nearly so, in the old 
dame’s scales for a longtime. We have succeeded in keep- 
ing the prospect of poverty and utter ruin dangling so 
long before the eyes of the litigants, that the younger one 
unaccustomed to anxiety and trouble, and in precarious 
health has succumbed and gone down into an early grave • 
This old man, inured by the life-struggle of over half a 
century to vexations and delays^ has been considerably 


OLD ANTIIOW'S SECRET, 


177 


shattered, hut struggles to live as long as possible, and still 
cherishes the hope that he may see the end before he dies* 

”Our Code, the Codes of all the States, are responsiblo 
for many lives, and we lawyers who interpret it for many 
more, I am afraid. But I see no necessity for another 
victim in this case. The section applies to minors against 
.whom judgment has been reifdered, while they are as- 
sumed by a legal fiction not to be able to answer for them- 
themselves. The judgment in this case was not against 
a minor. But whether the right of appeal exist or not, it 
is no ground on which to base a petition of this sort. It 
must proceed out of the Superior Court unless the Court 
finds errors in its own proceedings.” 

The Court sustained the views of Judge Free and re- 
fused to grant the petition. Indeed it was an erroneous 
2)roceeding, and immediately abandoned. During the 
next six months an appeal was taken by Alice Balford's 
niece, her devisee, to the Supreme Court, and Anthony 
was assured by his attorney. Judge Free, that at least an- 
other year was to be added to those already wasted, before 
the case would be finally decided. But the sale of the 
Balford place had been confirnied, and he was entitled to 
possession, subject to the right to redeem within a year. 
Anthony, however, informed his attorney that he did not 
desire ^jossession immediately, and would take no trouble 
to obtain it. He ordered Judge Free to instanter begin 
an action for the unjoaid balance of some thirteen thous- 
and dollars, against Lizzie Mathews. The service of the 
writ filled that young lady and her father with conster- 
nation. In vain they entreated ; old Anthony was deaf; 
out he continued to give Miss Lizzie that indefinite assu- 
rance that he “meant good to her,” 


178 


- OLD ANTHONY S SECRET. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

OLD Anthony’s cunning too much for the wise man. 

JAMES MATHEWS UNDERTAKES A DESPERATE GAME. 

Jim Little, whom Anthony had employed peimianently 
as his guard and companion in his hovel, had gone to the 
post office. His letters Anthony was anxious to get at the 
earliest moment. He had closed and firmly secured the 
outer door, until Jack's return, There was a rap upon it, 
to which he inquired : “Who knocks — I say, avIio is there ?” 
and James Mathews made' himself known. 

“Are you alone? I thought I heard more than one pair 
of feet — I say, I thought there were more.” 

“So there are, nlyself and my cane, we have three feet 
between us.” 

“You come late, James Mathews!” replied Antliony^ 
hesitating about opening the door. 

“I shall remain in the village all night.” 

“Its against my rule, James Mathews, — I say, I am not 
accustomed to receive visitors at this liour, but you are an 
old — villain! ” he exclaimed as the door swung open and 
he found himself in the grasp of two powerful men. • It 
was folly to struggle, and Anthony was not a foolish man. 
He knew they meant robbery, and he feared that James 
Mathews’ presence meant more. It was a sudden shock, 
and his danger stood revealed at once. Imagination had 
even allowed no time to unstring his nerves. It was not 
like being awakened from sleep at the dead hour of night, 
and groping about in the darkness, hurried and confused, 
for means of escape from certain but unseen terrors. An- 
thony had been a brave man in his youth. He was brave 
now, but his youthful confidence was gone with his 
strength. His mind was clear and he sat down in sullen 
silence at the command of the robbers, and rapidly over- 


OLD a.vtiiont‘s secret. 


179 


looked the situation. They tied his hands behind him, 
and bound a handkerchief over his mouth that lie might 
make no noise, and quietly awaited the return of Jim 
Little. That wary individual, on his return had hap- 
pened to overhear the neighing of one of the horses be- 
longing to the party, which had been secured out of sight, 
as he supposed, in the underbrush not far from the cabin. 
And Anthony, by the continual reiteration of his fears, 
had caused him to regard everything unusual with sus- 
picion. He peered therefore carefully about the premises 
after entering the gate, and even took the precaution to 
draw one of his pistols from its sheath. Finding every- 
thing quiet he knocked at the door for admittance and was 
in the act of thrusting the Aveapon back again, when the 
door opened and he stepped carelessly over the threshold. 
Instantly his eyes fell upon the men on either side of the 
door with raised bludgeons. lie darted so quickly past 
that the blows intended for his head, fell without serious 
injury upon his body. The next moment the burly ruf- 
fian named Jackson was pierced by a bullet from his j^is- 
tol, and fell heavily to the floor. But almost at the same 
instant lie recieved a blow from the third robber, whom 
he had not noticed behind him, and the brave fellow fell 
senseless at the feet of old Anthony. 

“Jackson’s done for,” said the younger man.” 

“Wall it can’t be helped, its one of the risks as we takes. 
You ought to have floored him,” said the wise man. 

They thereupon proceeded to bind Jim Little where he 
lay, and removing the bandage from Anthony, placed it 
upon him ; wliile James Mathews sat and watched their 
proceedings without uttering a word. A crafty man was 
James Mathews, who was already stud^dng how he should 
excuse himself from any participation in the crime that 
was about to be committed. He was resolved to appear 
in the light of an innocent old man whom the robbers had 
forced to do what he did. 

“Mathews, you stand at the door and keep a good look 


180 


OLD ANTHONY’S SECRET. 


out. Perhaps ef they lieern it some one moiit want to 
know what the pistol went off for. I’ll he mighty keerful 
o’ yon, Mr. Grater. I expect yer to lead me straight to 
yer pile. That’s what we’re arter. Ef yer should take it 
inter yer head to play gammon, yer mout expect me to 
puff a pellet at yer head for doin it. You’ve got a right 
smart of metal hid away in the hole and I expect yer to 
he ohligin. So you’ll jist git ready and go down the ladder 
first ; I’ll foller like a good dorg wherever you go,” said • 
the wise man, while nnhinding Anthony. 

“There’s no help, villains — I say, there’s no help. You 
want me killed, James Mathews. You think to save your 
property ; hut my will is in safe hand, and you will gain 
nothing.” 

James Mathews made no answer, for Jim Little had re- 
turned to consciousness, and was listening ; Anthony’s 
words gave him no comfort. 

“I must take my lantern — Isay, I must take that,” said 
Anthony as he took it from its hiding place and lighted it. 

The wise man lifted the trap. Anthony noticed that he 
was familiar with it, and knew that he was one of those 
who, years before had attejnpted to roh him. He went 
down the ladder, however, without hesitation, and was fol- 
lowed hy the wise man with his lamp on his forehead. It 
had begun to grow dark, and the youthful robber on guard 
found Anthony’s room lamp and lighting it, sat down to 
rest. No one visited the cabin after dark, and they had the 
whole night before them in which to carry out. their en- 
terprise. Anthony trudged steadily forward toward the 
locality of his treasure, alternately storming at the wise 
man, and stopping to rest. 

“Could you find no one but a weak old man to rob — I 
say, were you not man enough to find some one else. And 
James Mathews, the black-hearted villain — I say, I’m old 
and weak, I must rest or I shan’t be able to reach it — I 
say, I shan’t be able to reach it.” 

“Wall, you may rest, old un. I’m mighty tender in my 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


181 


feelins for the old. I’ll be old myself some time, perhaps. 
And you’ve made yer will hev yer. Who’d yer give yer 
money to ? He’ll feel mighty bad to he disappointed in not 
gittin this yer pile of the ready.” 

^‘Its none of your business — I say, its none of your bus- 
iness. Judge Free has it in his safe, and the suit will go 
on, and James Mathews will he left withoirt a dollar. I 
might have done better by him.” 

The wily old man was uttering the words most likely to 
influence the robber to spare his life, in the event his own 
plan failed. The latter laughed. 

“Ha, ha, ha! you’re a quar old un. .You’re right, its 
none o’ my business. So you’ve made, yer will, certain ?” 

“He tiiinks this shock will kill me very soon.. And per- 
haps he is right — I say, I have not long to live.” 

The wise man had pulled out his pipe while Anthony 
rested and began blowing a cloud. He took it from his 
lips, and remarked : 

“Correct, you haven’t long to live, that’s a fact, and I’m 
tender in my feelins. So I mout as well tell yer, that it 
was all fixed to kill yer, and that’s what Mathews wants ; 
but killin is hanging, robbery ain’t. And I ain’t partial 
to hangin myself. Then Mathews won’t be any the better 
for my puttin a pellet in yer head. Then thar’s another 
consideration; Mathews is keepin his mouth shut^I notice^ 
and he’ll go back on us. Perhaps it’ll kinder console yer 
to know that if yer show me straight to the pile, I won’t 
puff a pellet at ye. Yer oiighn’t to encourage yerself in 
heap! II up riches at your age. Yer'll have a heap mor’n 
yer need anyway, and it’ll do yer soul a right smart of 
good to be giving some of it away. Thar, yer rested, I 
reckon, and we’ll go on.” 

Anthony scanned the features of the wise man closely, 
and assured himself that he had communicated his real 
intentions. He felt relieved mentally, but appeared to be 
growing weak physically, and th^ very raxndly. He 


182 


OLD ANTHONY^S SECRET. 


wheezed and groaned as he proceeded, and his feet moved 
more slowly. 

“I’m almost ready to drop, and my breath grows short — 
I say, I can hardly breathe.” 

“Wall, take yer time, old uii. I’m very tender in my 
feelins for a man o’ your age. Then, agin, yer can’t bo 
expected to over-exert yerself fer my benefit. I’m consid- 
erate I am. That would be askin too much.” 

The wise man never suspected that Anthony feigned, 
nor credited him with the wonderful vitality he really pos- 
sessed. He climbed to near the summit of the hill where? 
as we know, the pit stretched across the avenue, and there 
he broke down altogether, and wheezed and coughed 
fearfully. 

“I can’t go any farther — I say, I can’t, but it’s just over 
there upon that ledge, under the first rock that juts out — 
I say, it is in an iron box ; here is the key. You can scrape 
the dirt away and find it.” 

“How will I get up onto the ledge, old un ?” 

“Yes, yes, I forgot. I must submit to fate, I suppose 
I must. I am in your power, a weak old man. In that 
crevasse yonder, you will find a ladder. I’ll help you if 
I can. You won’t take it all — I say, you will leave the old 
man a part of his own?” 

“Wall, perhaps I mout, ef the pile is big enough,” re- 
plied the wise man dragging forth the ladder. Anthony 
staggered as he arose to his feet, and appeared very weak. 
The wise man noticed it. 

“I’ll carry the end if I can. You’ll not take it all — I say, 
you’ll leave me half?” 

“Say, old un, you’re workin on my feelins powerful. 
I’ll consider when I’ve seed it,” said the wise man as An- 
thony laid hold, groauiug the while, of the rear end of the 
ladder. The wise man marched forward with the other. 

“Old U 71 , I didn’t expect to find yer so accomodatin.” 

One, two, three, four, five steps, just five. Anthony 
counted tliem. d’liej: the. wi.se uiau's foot fell upon the trap 


OLD Axfjioxy’s' SECRET. 


183 


— A yall of terror, a grasp at the ledge of rock with his left 
hand, a nervous clutch of the ladder on his shoulder with his 
right, as he descended. The ladder falls upon the edge 
of tlie pit — his hold is broken and he goes suddenly to his 
doom, the third of the merciless gang who had thus 
perished. 

Anthony did not utter a word. The tension on his 
nerves had exceeded endurance, and he sank down upon 
a rock, too weak now in reality to stand. His prostration 
was but momentary, and the remembrance of the robber 
standing guard over his faithful companion, Jim JLittle, 
nerved him again to action. As on the previous occasion, 
he reset his trap, hid away his ladder, and returned to the 
mouth of the cave. All signs of extreme debility had 
ceased. He drew forth the long double-barreled pistol 
already described. Nobody suspected the old miser of 
being armed. The wise man had kept him in front of 
him, on his way to the pit ; but had the wise man ordered 
him to lead the way with the ladder over the pit, his hand 
was upon his pistol as a last resort. 

He now carefully examined it, and turning out his light 
waited and lisbmed beneath the trap which remained 
open. 

One thing troubled James Mathews. He thought 
it would hardly appear consistent with his story, by which 
he hoped to appear innocent, that he should remain un- 
unbouiid, and be addressed by the young robber as one of 
the gang. It was assumed that he had seen the ’ast of old 
Anthony, and it would be far the safer for him to have 
Jim Little out of the road as a witness. So he seated him- 
self near the robber, and tried to persuade him to kill Lit- 
tle. Failing in this he picked up a bludgeon himself for 
the purpose, but he was arrested in the act by the robber. 

'‘No, you don’t, Mathews — not till pard comes back ; then 
we’ll consider. Perhaps he mout think best not to snuff 
out the old man, special as he hcs made a vv'ill. Murder 


184 


OLD Anthony’s secret 


is one thing and gettin the chink is another, Not jis yet, 
ef you please.’' 

While they talked and revealed their situation, Anthony 
with his cocked pistol, crept cat-like up the ladder, and 
peering unobserved over the edge of the trap-way levelled 
Ills weapon at the robber, and pulled the trigger. Ilis own 
safety required that the remaining robber should be dis- 
abled, but his fears rendered the old man merciless ; he 
had shot him dead. James Mathews leapt to his feet in 
consternation, and Jim Little shouted, “hurrah ! ” 

“Sit down, James Mathews — I say, sit doAvn ! ” com- 
manded Anthony, as his person emerged from the trap- 
Mathews saw that the pistol was bearing down upon him 
and he quietly submitted. 

“I have much to say to you — I say, I have more to say 
to you, when I have released Jim Little.’ 

He cut that young gentleman’s bonds, and directed him 
to tie James Mathews. When that Avas completed he be- 
gan with that stereotyped sentence, Avhich MatheAvs had 
learned to hate, because he had discovered that Anthony 
never designed to express by it any good will toward him, 
but rather to remind him of past events, which he would 
be very Avilling to forget. 

“I have knoAvn you a very long time, James MatheAVS— 
I say, a long time.” The occasion had come sooner than 
he anticipated for him to say something more definite. 

“A long while, and I’ve bided my time, which has come 

at last. A great many years ago I SAvore ” the old 

man raised his hand impressively, and straightened up his 
stooping form — “to make you a renegade and a beggar 
upon the face of the earth in your old age, to make you 
a reproach to your friends, a curse to yourself, to make 
you feel, in the only Avay in Avhich you can be made to feel, 
a torture that may, in some measure, reward you for what 
you have caused me to sulTer — I say, caused me to endure. 
You will feel it the more, vile miscreant, since you know 
that the despised Anthony holds your destiny in his hand, 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


185 


and doles out your misery. You have been a heartless 
and inhuman wretch, and you have made my heart as hard 
as steel toward you — I say, as hard as steel- I have 
been enjoying your agony, and the humble prayers you 
have put up to me, whom you have despised and wronged I 
will gloat over you yet, as a broken, miserable wretch. I 
shall see you standing in the criminal dock, guilty of an 
attempt to rob and murder one, to whom a life of devo- 
tion would not serve to wipe out the crime you committed 
against him. It will rack you to know, that the laws are 
avenging me — I say, avenging me!" 

The next day the bodies of the robbers were disposed 
of, and Janies Mathews was taken before ’Squire Gregg, 
who, upon the testimony of Anthony and Jim Little, 
bound him over to stand his trial at the next term of the 
Circuit Court in the sum of five thousand dollars. Not 
being able to furnish bail, since it had become generally 
known that Anthony’s suit would strip him of every acre 
held in his daughter’s namC; he went to jail. 


CHAPTER XXYIIL 

GHOSTS IN THE BALFORD MANSION. A MYSTERIOUS LETTER. 

THOMAS BALPORD’s BOLD DEFENSE OP HIS HOME. 

A lonesome and uncanny place was the Balford man- 
sion after the death of Alice. Now, that there was no one 
to engage him in conversation or restrain his vagaries, 
Thomas Balford wandered about the rooms when at home, 
a restless and uneasy spirit, communing aloud with him- 
self, save when occasionally for hours he would become 
absorbed in some book, which he had taken mechanically 
from the library. Then, perchance, he would suddenly 
lay it down, and calling for his horse, ride over to Cap- 
tain Gregg’s or some other neighbor’s house, and talk very 
agreeably and with superior intelligence to the inmates- 


186 


OLD ANTHONY’ti SECRET. 


On such occasions, however, sooner or later, he would 
speak of his sister’s suit, of the legality and justice of her 
cause. He would denounce the makers of laws, the dis- 
pensers of justice, and the judicial system upon which, 
perhaps, justly enough, he charged his sister’s death. It 
was noticed invariably that he left as abruptly as he came. 

The negroes, when the shades of evening fell, would 
huddle in the cabins, to talk of ghosts and goblins, and 
of the strange sounds they had heard and terrible sights 
they had beheld in the mansion house One room in par- 
ticular was full of terrors. No one of them dare venture 
through that chamber alone at night though the lamplight 
shone never so brightly. 

I tole you what, niggas, dat bed-room done been haunted 
mo’ll forty yeah. I’se heard my mudder tell ’bout it. 
Ain’t dat so, Uncle Hamp?” 

Wall, chilion, I heern tell its afac, dat James Mathews’ 
fust wife continues to rock de cradle in de iiorf-east room* 
An I’se oberhoar some mighty strange noises in dat direc- 
tion mysef, sartin, sho. Yo mudder, chile, ’longed to ole 
man Mathews, an she tole me arter she heah dat ghost a 
singin, an music in de aiah, which it would go off furder 
and furder, till bye-m-byeshe wouldn’t heah it no mo. But 
de whole subjec of ghosts is hidden history, ciiillen. De 
circumspection ob de spirit lumination is mighty onsartin. 
I doan know whedder yo uns see de ghosts or whedder 
yo doan.*’ 

‘‘Foah de Lawd, Uncle Hamp, I’se seed dat woman mo’n 
fawty times,” said Sarah. 

‘‘Shut yo mouff! ” \exciaimed an old negress taking her 
pipe from her shrunken jaws, that she might open her 
own. “Yo ain’t done seed it so frequen. I’se been heah 
on dis place mo’n thirty yeah, an I’se only seed her foah 
times. I’se remembah de fust time she nearly done scart 
me me to deaftli in de kitchen yandeah. I wah settin up 
all alone ’side de fiah, waitiii for Mars’r Mathews to come 
homo, an goes to sleep. Reckon it niout a ben bout mid- 


OLD Anthony's secuet. 


187 


(light, when I lieah some one whispah in my eah, an 
wen I opens my eyes dar she stan right aside me. Seed 
her jis as plain an heerd lier too a say in : 

“ ‘Liza I want some bread and milk for baby.’ Chillen, 
de wool jis straighten out all ober my head, an I jis froze 
^ to my cheer, an my eyes got sot on her, an I couldn’t do 
nuffin. I couldn’t even yell. Spose I look so mighty 
quar I frighten her off, cause she went away gradual.” 

The youthful negroes huddled together more closely and 
hitched their seats up nearer to the pine knots that blazed 
in the fire-place, and served in some measure to dispel the 
gloom immediately in front, leaving the greater portion 
of the cabin in profound obscurity. 

“De chile doan done comprehen de construction oh de 
figures. Fowty, my favorite, am all de lingei-s and thumbs 
on foah pairs ob hands,” said Uncle Hamp. 

“W'ell, I don care, I’se seed her a heap a times.” 

“Say, you dar, Uncle Hamp, what do she come faw ?” in- 
quired one of the terrified. 

“Wall, chillen, ef she do come, I spec I knows de reason. 
You see she didn’t marry Mars’r Mathews cause she like 
him, but cause de ole folks puts der heads togedder and 
kind ob fool heh into de traces agin heh, will. I seed de 
daisy often, chillen, an she wah mighty sweet an X)retty 
sho. I doan know allde ‘flections ob de incidents, but dis 
yah place used to be owned by her fadder an sho wah de 
only chile ’cept one. Jim Mathews wah a mighty wild 
chap, an dey say he abuse de daisy drefful. Specs dats de 
reason she doan done live a great while. De chile wah put 
out to nuss, an Jim Mathews, he marry a widow mighty 
soon after. I wah at her berryin, chillen, an I help frow 
de dirt on de coflin. I’se seen a heap ob folks put in de 
groun, an Ise been expectin des ten yeah it would be ole 
Hamp’s turn next. But it a cumin mighty soon, chillen — 
it a cumin mighty soon. Uncle Hamp is drefiul neah de 
eend ob de road sho.” 


188 


OLD anthoxy’s secket. 


“You jis ax Mars’r Tom, ef dat woman don’t done come 
back — yon jis ax him.” 

“Chillen,” said Uncle Ilamp, “yons a mighty sight bet- 
tah see de ghost, den ax Mars’r Tom ^bout it. De ghost 
is drefFul mild ’paired wif Mars’r Tom. Mine what I 
tole you.” 

“Miss Aliff hab done come back, too,” said Sarali. 

“What would she want — say you, Sarah, what she want 
to come back foah ? ” 

.“Dunno. Specs she thinks she’s ’titled to the place. She 
took de suit mighty to heart foh she die, an dat what kill 
her suah. I know she come to see Mars’r Tom, cause I 
heali him talkin to her. Lawdy, I wish my soul somebody 
take me away from heah. I’se done frightened to deaftli 
most ob do time. I specs to meet Miss Aliff ebery time I 
goes in her room. I’ll jis drap dead on de floah suah.” 

“Jis as lief see Miss Aliff as not — knows she wouldn’t 
do me no harm,” returned one of the listeners. 

“You jis see ef you dar, Jim Stanley — you jis see. All 
dat brack wool ob yous turn white directly,” retorted 
Sarah. 

“She niout come back as well as anodder, I reckon,” 
said the old iiegress. “Dey ain’t de only ones as ’pears 
’roun de ole place. I’se seed ’em, chillen — I tell you I’se 
seed ’em. Foah dey build de big houfde white folks libed 
in dis yar cabin. I mind when I wah a chile 'bout as big 
as Susan ober dah, a mighty nice lookin young white man 
come an rent de place, an lib all alone in de cabin heah« 
Nobody know whar he come from, an dey don’t done foun 
out yit, cause he’s alibe up at Adair.” 

“Who’s dat. Aunt Ilanner, say, who d’ye mean ? ” 

“You wouldn’t spec he wah eber sich a nice young man,” 
said the old woman. 

“She mean Mars’r Anthony Grater, an dats a fac, chil- 
len,” said Uncle Hamp. 

“Wall, he tole de white folks, he’d see how lie liked the 
country foh |ie buy de place. Bye-m-bye de folks say he 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


189 


bring a heap ob money an hide it away somewhar. Wall, 
den a white man come, an Mars’r Anthony hire him to 
obersee de place. So one day de master go away an come 
back foah he’s ’spected, an finds de doah ob dis berry cabin 
fastened on de inside. lie ’specs some one done foun out 
Avhar de money is, so he bust open de doah, an de oberseor 
stans one side to kill him Avif de spade when he come in. 

“Wall, Mars’r Grater j is pull out a pistol an shoot him 
dead.” 

The noAV thoroughly terrified blacks placed their arms 
about each other and awaited in dreadful suspense the 
denouement of Aunt Hannah’s story. 

“He had done foun out whar de money wah. It Avah 
berried j is undeh de floah jis whar you set, Jim Stanley." 

“Oh, LaAvdy ! ” exclaimed that youth. “Let me get away 
from yeah. Make room ober dar, you niggas, d’ye heah !” 
and Jim Stanley hastily changed his location. 

“Yas, chillen, he Avah diggiii indeyeathjis thar arter 
lie had prized up dem bowds, and he comes back frequen 
an goes to diggin arter dat money. Shouldn’t wonder he 
mout come to-night ef you keep quiet an de pitch knot 
buhns loAv. Cause I’se a ’culiah feelin jis like I have fo 
he come often.” 

“Shoo! Oh, Lawdy, Lawdy ! Don’t lef him come, 
Aunt Hanna, I die suah. Lef me Outen heah. AVon’t 
nobody — Jim Stanley, see me home ! ” exclaimed an ex- 
cited young negress. 

“Specs he won’t come. Specs avc bettah all go togedder,” 
replied that sable chevalier, cautiously. 

“Hist! ” exclaimed one. Profound silence instantly ob- 
tained in the cabin, even breathing Avas checked for an in- 
stant, long enough to hear a monotonous sound appai*ently 
in the distance. 

Ht’s de cradle,” ventured one in a whisxier, and they 
listened again. The sounds grew nearer, more distinct. 

“It’s Mars’r Tom comiu home on de loxie,” suggested one. 


190 


OLL» Anthony’s secret. 


^‘Bcttah be out dar mighty soon, Jim Stanlej’’,*’ said the 
sable beauty whom he luid refused to chaperone. 

“Hist! ” Silence prevailed once more. There were light 
footfalls at the cabin door followed by three vigorous raps 
upon it. 

“Who's dar?” imiuired Uncle ilamp. The latch lifted 
and the door swung open. The flickering flame from the 
pine knot, revealed in the darkness, the dim form of a 
woman. To the excited imaginations of the negroes she 
was a terrible apparition, from which they strove to hide 
away like frightened sheep. 

“Is the kitchen door locked, Jane ? ” inquired the spec- 
tre in a low voice. 

“N-n-no. Miss,” replied the trembling servant. Then 
the spectre passed on, and entered the house. Some of 
them from where they sat, saw through the open door s 
faint light in tlie windows, which almost instantly dis- 
appeared. 

“Who wall dat woman, chile?” inquired Uncle Hamp. 

“Diinno, dunno, she wah a ghost. Ain’t no mistake 
’bout dat. I wish de whole place wah burned down. It’s 
jis plumb full ob ghosts, an dey bound to kill me sartin 
suah.” 

“Chile, you’s frighten most to deafth. It’s de abrasion 
ob yo idear, honey. Dat wah no ghost." 

“Hist!” Quiet reigned once more. There was no mis- 
taking this time the clatter of hoofs. Thomas Balford 
went straight to his room. He had heard, as he came 
through Adair, that a writ of possession had at length 
been issued, and placed in the sherift’s hands. He was in- 
tensely excited, and walked the floor of his room nearly all 
night. He held conversations with divers persons appa- 
rently, but chiefly with his sister Alice, in which he reit- 
erated those darkly expressed and dreadful resolves to 
which Captain Gregg and Nathaniel Gautier had list- 
ened. But before morning he had decided upon his course 
of action ; and then, reckless of results, he resigned him- 


OLD Anthony's secTiet. 


191 


self, cTs it seemed, tranquilly into the arms of Destiny and 
Morpheus at the same instant, and sank into profound 
repose. Whether ^he were of mundane or spiritual sphere, 
the visitor of the previous evening was not in the mansion 
house in the morning, nor could Sarah find any trace of 
any one having been there. When Thomas Balford awoke 
the sun stood high above the mountains, and by a few 
straggling rays that crept in through the crevices in the 
blinds lighted up dimly his darkened room. While in the 
act of clothing himself, his eye fell upon a sheet of paper 
with writing upon it. He raised the blind a little that he 
might read it, for it had an unfamiliar look. The contents 
were as follows : 

Tom Balfokd: — Retributive justice is on your trail. 
You shall suti’cr fourfold what you have maile me endure. 
You left me Avithouteyes to behold the externals of miserv ; 
but you shall keep yours, that you may note the cold looks 
of old friends, and the contemptuous stare of your ene- 
mies, Avhen you have not a dollar in the world.* A writ 
of possession has been issued, and will soon be executed 
on all the property which you call yours. Yon have liv^ed 
for some time in dread of Poverty, Avho has you at length 
in her clutclies. Worse is to follow. Pate has issued her 
decree. You are now in Earth’s hell from which I long 
since escaped, and I desire you to know that, happily pro- 
visioned, 1 am enjoying your misery, safe from your mur- 
derous cane and destructive bullets. 

Ha, Jia ! Samuel Pekkins. 

Tlie mysterious letter would have filled them Avith ter_ 
ror and blanched the cheek of most men. It Avas not there 
at three o'clock for the table had been under his eye all 
night, and he would certainly haAm seen it. With spec- 
tres, whether they Avere creations of his brain or actual 
entities, he Avas familiar, and he did not doubt that the 
former victim of his castigation had paid him a visit. But 
Thomas Balford perused it, to all appearances, Avith perfect 
composure, and remarked as he tossed it aside : 

“You SAvindling rascal, I had the greatest contempt, and 
no fear of you living. It is the same noAV that you are 


192 


OLD ANTHOXY’s secret. 


dead, even if as believed by Madam of the Wilderness^ 
you are among those who help to shape my destiny. 
Laugh on, but beware ! for if you have power for harm 
there so sliall I, and we may meet again. ” 

Thereupon this peculiar man dismissed the subject and 
summoned Sarah. 

“I’ll be ready for breakfast in fifteen minutes,” he said. 

“Yes, Mars’r Tom.” 

“Did I have any callers while I was away?” 

“No, Mars’r Tom.” 

“There was no one stayed here last night.” 

“No, Mars’r Tom.” 

Thomas Balford had decided upon what he would do, 
and his resolve seldom received a second consideration* 
Fate must manage the consequences. He mounted his 
horse, rode at a gallop into Adair, and entered the sheriflTs 
office, Avhen the following colloquy ensued. 

“Mr. Sheriff, in the suit of Grrater vs. B?lford, has a 
writ of possession been placed in your hands ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Do you intend executing it?” 

“I suppose so, Mr. Balford, that’s my duty.” 

“I don’t think it is. The defendant died before the time 
within which an appeal could be taken had expired, and 
the right of appeal exists.” 

“But that is not a matter for*me to settle ; the writ or- 
ders me to give possession to Anthony Grater.” 

“And I order you not to do so, Mr. Sheriff. It will be 
necessary to overpower me before you succeed, and I shall 
hold you personally responsible.” 

Judge Free had left Adair to be gone for some time, 
and old Anthony had himself ordered the clerk to issue 
the Avrit. Thomas Balford found him sitting on the front 
porch of the Sawyer cottage, of which, as executor, he held 
possession. 

It is not needful in the development of this narrative to 
recount all the circumstances connected with Thomas Bal- 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


m 

ford’s defense of liis home against the sheriff’s posse, which 
followed The event was one of the news sensations of 
the time, and appeared under flaming head lines in all the 
journals of the country. There were flags of truce, and 
many parleys, but no man dare be the first to enter his en- 
closure, since he knew he must fall a victim to Balford’s 
unerring rifle. So Balford held possession, and Anthony 
ordered the writ returned, concluding to await the final 
Supreme Court decision on appeal. 

“Time, time,’ exclaimed Anthony. “It’s a commodity of 
no value in the courts — I say, the courts ought to be abol.- 
ished. They hav(^ become engines of fraud. They wear 
©ut justice with forms and ceremonies, and legal fictions, 
and put her to sleep.” 

The old man certainly had cause for grumbling, and 
were it not that some aim, the attainment of which ab- 
sorbed his faculties, and was to crown his life with what 
lie deemed success or failure, continually stimulated his 
flagging energies, one so fearful of loss as he must have 
sunk into lethargy and despair. His heart was doubtless 
very sick with deferred hope. With Jim Little for a guar- 
dian, he had been enabled to pass the time comparatively 
free from those excitements that began to seriously affect 
his nerves, and the months rolled around bringing a ses- 
sion after a session of court illustrating the science of de- 
lay. John Elcott had become a Judge of the Supreme 
Court, and Nathaniel Gautier the Secretary of State. 

Thomas Balford, for nearly four vears, maintained his 
Ijossession of the homestead. During all this time the 
case was being ground in the slowest judicial mill of them 
all. His eccentricities manifested continuously; and his 
acquaintances noticed that he became more and more ab- 
sorbed by the unsettled suit. He would pursue his favor- 
ite amusement of quail shooting; in which he was some- 
times accompanied by Captain Gregg, for whom he had a 
strong attachment. But the Captain noticed that fre- 
quently while his patient dog set the bird, Balford would 


194 


OLD ANTHONY S SECRET. 


stand at ready and address his imagined auditors on the 
legal questions involved in Grater us. llaltbrd. 

At length when the art-science of delay had been ex- 
hausted in the Supreme Court his appeal came to a hear- 
ing, and Judge Elcott delivered regretfully the judgment 
of the Court that sustained the verdict of the Court below, 
and left only the possible chance of a rehearing on which 
to base the mere ghost of a ho})e of final success. He had 
promised to give possession, upon the hearing of the ap- 
peal, and did so without a murmur, but threw out some 
dark intimations that it was not the last of Grater vs. Bal- 
ford. Thereupon he hovered about Frankfort, urging his 
claims for a new hearing. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

OLD ANTHONY IN THE ENJOYMENT OF HIS REVENGE. HK 
SETS MATHEWS AT LIBERTY. 

There was no defense to the action against Lizzie Math- 
ews. Yet the art-science of delay postponed the writ of 
possession for some three years, Avhen Anthony became 
the owner of what Nathaniel Gautier persisted in his let- 
ters to Miss Lizzie in calling Belmont, the home of his 
Portia. Having taken formal possession, he told Miss 
Lizzie once more that “he intended good to her,*’ and 
bade her remain in the house indefinitely. 

It is possible that the wily old man, foresaAV the conse- 
quences of awaking pity in the breast of the young Gen- 
tleman of Adair for the former mistress of Belmont. He 
may have reflected that in her misfortune, she Avould be 
more to Nathaniel Gautier than in her prosperity. And 
such indeed had been the fact. Mdien Miss Lizzie became 
assured of the inevitable consequences of the suit, she 
played her part Avell in the correspondence, and succeeded 
in inducing him to believe her endowed with far nobler 


OLJ) AXT1I0NV’)5 skcket. 195 

traits of character than he liad ever discerned before. Her 
letters became sadder in tone than formerly, l)ut never con- 
veyed to him a knowledge of her troubles, so that when 
through other sources the information reached him, her 
reticence appeared in the light of heroic suflcring. After 
he had expressed his sympathy, and chided her for not in- 
torming him beforehand, that he might use his influence 
with Anthony in her behalf, she asserted her unwillingness 
to add to his cares, and that she felt quite able to bear her 
burden. She was profuse in her thaidcs for his sympathy 
but that she expected no less from one whose heart was 
as large and as warm as his, although she had occupied 
but a small corner in it,” etc. And Nathaniel Gautier 
on receiving her letter exclaimed : ‘‘Brave hearted girl ! ” 
and immediately thereafter: “Confound old Anthony.” 
Then he had recieved a letter from that same old Anthonv 

* f 

stating that he had left Miss Lizzie in i)OSsession, and re- 
peating that same old sentence : “I intend good to Lizzie 
Mathews,” for which the young Gentleman of Adair 
blessed him. It had followed quickly upon the arrest of 
James Mathews. Old Anthony had written of that also, 
and fully detailed the scheme of James Mathews. He 
had said in addition : “I will save him from the Peniten- 
tiary. I will release him from jail at great cost I fear — 

I say, at great cost, after a time, after the first term of 
Court, when his bail is reduced.” And for this also the 
young Gentleman of Adair had blessed him. Miss Lizzie 
had pleaded with him upon her kness, wringing her hand’s, 
and littering the wildest accents of anguish. With all his 
faults he was her father, her poor old father, she said. At 
one moment she called upon God to avenge Anthony’s 
cruelty upon him, at another she beseeched him to be mer- 
ciful for mercy’s sake, and Anthony, watching her very 
closely, checked her wild transport roughly. 

‘‘That will do, Lizzie Mathews — I say, get up. You 
ought to have studied for the stage. It’s your proper place 
in the theatre. You are proud, and you don't want your 


196 


OLD ANTHONY S SECKET. 


father, bad as he is, in the Penitentiary. That would be 
liard on you, Lizzie Mathews. Neither do I, and he shall 
not go — Isay, I'll keep him out of the Penitentiary at a 
j)rice vastly more than his head’s worth — I say, vastly 
more. I intend good to you, Lizzie Mathews, and I prom- 
ise you that. You haven’t kept your promises, but go. I'll 
not talk to you of that, now — I say, not now.” 

And Lizzie Mathews, blessing him with her lips, but 
full of bitterness and direst hate in her heart, went to the 
home that was hers by his sutferance, and said nothing of 
her father’s disgrace in her letters. And Nathaniel Gau- 
tier made more room in his great heart for this girl in her 
distress. Side by side in his pocket he carried her letters 
and the fresh, ingenuous, loving epistles of his Lily blos- 
som, and when he sat down to answer the former, the latter 
lay before him and seemed to convey a silent Avarning, for 
they brought up the SAveet, placid face of his young Avard. 
lie beheld her groAAung in intellect, stature and grace, and 
he counted her j^ears to fourteen ; he heard old Anthony’s 
abrupt exclamation: ^‘Not until your Avard is sixteen — I 
say, sixteen,’' and that other: “It Avill be hard to keep,” 
and the pen that Avas often about to frame the sentence : 
“I adore jmu,” Avrote instead : “I esteem your friendship 
very highly.” The experience of a fcAV years had serA’-ed 
to convince him that young fancy had overreached his 
judgment and played him a cruel prank, and he kncAv be- 
yond a doubt that his heart Avas no longer in the coffin of 
Alice Balford. He had grown more cautious. The fear 
that fancy might again be fooling him caused delay and 
hesitation, and he never could quite assure himself that 
Miss Lizzie was she Avhom Fate had chosen for his wife. 
Yet often during these years Avhen he met her at Adair 
was he tempted to break his promise. 

At the first term James Mathews Avas arraigned before 
the Court as a criminal. It Avas a rare thing to sec one 
80 old in the dock charged with such a crime Report 
credited him Avith being the chief of a gang of 


OLD Anthony’s secket. 


197 


desperadoes, and the mouiilain people came from far and 
near to look on the hoary old robber. The Court room 
was crowded, and the prisoner stood before his neighbors 
and acquaintances, and vast numbers of strangers, pallid 
and thin. TIiseyes dimmed by age and dissipation, were 
rendered still more lusterless for the want of the light of 
liope in them. It was hard enough to endure the gaze of 
the crowd, but it was exquisite agony to behold old An- 
thony sitting just across the table, with his yet bright eye 
fixed upon his face, answering every tremor of his lip 
Avith a look of contemptuous triumph. For arrogance 
and wealth, James Mathews had been a prince in this 
country in his day. He Avas passing in his feebleness and 
old age through a fearful ordeal; and as he stood before 
the Court so thin and cadaverous, it seemed scarcely prob- 
able that he could sustain the AA’^ear and tear of a trial and 
live, liis tremulous lips Avere scarcely equal to the task of 
uttering the Avords, Not guilty. Ilis laAvyer asked for a 
continuance, and old Anthony said to the State’s Attorney, 
^‘Give him a continuance — I say, give it to him.” Where- 
upon no objection Avas made. Ilis attorney then moved 
the Court to reduce the old man’s bail. He dAvelt upon 
his advanced age, and feeble condition, Avhich Avere suffi- 
ciently apparent, and descanted pathetically upon his loss 
of wealth. Him Avlioin they remembered as the foremost 
man of property in the Avhole country, misfortunes had 
crowded thickly upon, until he had not a foot of land 
to stand upon, and call his own, not a dollar AAdth Avhich to 
hcl[) himself in his dire emergency. Thereupon the Court 
struck a naught off the amount of his bail and made it 
five hundred dollars. 

‘‘Yes, yes, it’s as much as he’s Avorth, far more, and I 
don’t want him to die in jail — I say, I AA’^ant to set him 
at liberty, and I will go his bail.” 

It was a very stranire })rocedure. It AA’^as indeed a very 
rare thing for a prosecuting AVitness to bail the prisoner 


198 


OLD AN'THOXY’s secret. 


out of custody, and the State’s Attorney looked at his 
witness in astonishment. 

^AYell, Mr. Grater, no one can call you a prejudiced wit- 
ness when you come upon the stand after that.” 

‘‘Perhaps not and I don’t care — I say, it makes no differ- 
ence what they call me.” 

Confinement had so cowed James Mathews’ spirit, that 
he was willing to accept his liberty even at Anthony’s 
hands, who, he knew, had done it in contempt, that he 
might feel how utterly he was in his power. He conld 
suffer no deeper disgrace than that which had already 
been inflicted upon him. It was a maddening reflection 
that for the paltry sum of five hundred dollars the once 
despised miser had become his jailer who had once reveled 
ill his thousands. 

As they passed out of the Court room, Anthony re- 
marked sarcastically to his victim : 

“I’ve done you another great favor, James Mathews. 
You did not like to accept it from me after all I have done 
for you, but how could you help it — I say, how could it be 
avoided ? No one else would risk five hundred dollars on 
your word of honor. I am willing to risk more and lose 
it — I say, I‘ll be sure to lose it. You don’t want to go to 
the Penitentiary for the rest of your life, and I don’t want 
you to be confined — you wouldn’t live long. I would 
rather have you live a long time. But yon Avill want to 
go away a long distance, and you can’t go without mone.v. 

I shall have some to give you bye and bye. I am fitting 
up the old place under its old name, James Mathews, the 
name it had when you and I were young, and the name it 
should always have kept. I will have it painted on the 
gatepost, Mount Yerder. When! have it completed and 
furnished and ])ut in order, I will give you notice, and you 
will come. You will like to,, see it once more — I say, 
once more.” 


OLD ANTHONY S SECRET. 


199 


CHAPTER XXX. 

JAMES MATHEWS IS MADE BY ANTHONY TO PASS THROUGH 
WHAT, FOR SOME MYSTERIOUS CAUSE, IS A TERRIBLE 
ORDEAL. 

James Mathews ]iad, throiigli attorneys, invoked the aid 
of the science of delay in postponing as long as possible 
the loss of his property, which he perceived to be inev- 
itable from the tirst. The rediictloii of that science to 
practice has been, time out of mind, expensive, and had 
gradually absorbed his ready money, and next his stock on 
which his lawyers held liens for their unpaid fees. Of all 
this old Anthony had kept himself informed, and knew 
that his enemy was well nigh i)enniless. lie had no fear 
that his chattel would run from the country, he had no 
money upon which to leave. He could do nothing but 
hide himself away from the eyes of his fellows in the 
house which his daughter occupied by Anthony’s suffer- 
ance. At the end of a few weeks, however, Jim Little 
received orders to wait upon James Mathews and bring 
Inm to Mount Verder, that he might revive the scenes 
of his early life. He received by the hands of this messen- 
ger a characteristic letter. 

To James Mathews — S'r ; — You will recievethis at the 
hands of Jim LittU' who has becm direct(‘d to bring you 
to nu*, and he will not b(‘ dcuiied. You will appreciate 
the motive that moves me to invite you to my house — I say, 
you will understand that I would have you in your forlorn 
and mis(*i*able condition receiv(‘ all the pleasure you may 
d<*rive from overlooking th(‘ house and premises where 
you jHU’formed in your young manhood deeds for which 
you nev(*r looked forward to an e<iuivalent rewanl — 1 say, 
for which you never expecti'd a recompense. You may 
feel unwilling, as a high sjiiriled and sensitive man, to re- 
cieve any further favors at my hands, but T pray you will 
not regard them as uuwillingiy bestowed, for I assure you 


200 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


that they afford me very great pleasure — I say, I delight 
to do them ; and lest you might feel disposed to deny me 
that gratihcation I have ordered Jim Little to bring you 
whether or no. Your humble servant, 

Anthony Grater. 

James Mathews knew that he had the power at any 
time to arrest and deliver him up to the jailer, llis mean 
spirit preferred, to confinement in prison, pure air and 
locomotion as a slave. Anthony had said he did not desire 
that his old acquaintance should end his days in the Peni- 
tentiary, and as Anthony was the only man who could 
-save him from that fate, he dared not refuse to go with 
Jim Little. Yet Anthony’s cutting taunts were intolera- 
ble and rendered him desperate. He had for days been 
contemplating revenge ui)on his persecutor without hav- 
ing been able to work himself up to the right pitch of res- 
olution, since it meant incarceration to the end of his life 
or public execution. His cowardly spirit revolted from 
that. The letter, however, for a time overcame his dread, 
and he put a pistol in his pocket. He would shoot An- 
thony Grater in the midst of his triumph and then take 
his own life. In this, however, he had underrated Antho- 
ny’s foresight; for when they dismounted at the horse 
block, on their arrival at Mount Verder, Jim Little ad- 
dressed him as follows : 

“I reckon ye ain’t got enny arms, Mr. Mathews? He 
won’t allow any one to go armed about the house except 
me. He lies confidence in my knowin how to use a shootin 
iron. So I’ll search yer to set his mind easy.” lie there- 
upon deliberately searched James Mathews, took away his 
weapon, and led him to the house. Mathews submitted 
to the search without protest and followed him silently. 
He did not even utter a threat. It was not old Anthony, 
Anthony the miser, who met James Mathews at the door^ 
but a very smart looking old gentleman in fashionable 
attire, befitting the owner of a fine estate. It was Mr. 
Anthony , Grater, gentleman, who welcomed James 


OLD Anthony’s secket. 


201 


Mathews with smiles and courtesies, and told him it was 
kind of him to come, and who, as he led him about, talked 
to him in the following manner: 

“I have fitted up the old house, James Mathews, within 
and without as nearly like what I remember it to have 
been fifty years ago, when you and your young bride took 
possession. Those were happy times, James Mathews? 
when you and I were young — I say, those were haxipy 
times. You loved your young wife so devotedly who 
brought you so line a dower as this, and much more wdth 
it — I say, much more. This was her chamber, that yours. 
They Avill serve to remind you how amicably you lived 
together. You remember hoAV she i^leaded Avith you and 
why — I say Avhy, and how generous and truthful you were 
— I say, hoAV generous. You have not forgotten either, by 
what stratagem I was enticed into the mountains and de- 
tained against my Avill, and my life placed in jeopardy. 
Your young bride Avas dead before my return, to your 
great grief, James Mathews — 1 say, to your great grief. 
I could have saved her had I returned in time — I say, you 
Avould ha\m rejoiced at my return. And her child. You 
remember how kindly you dealt Avith that, and Avhy not^ — 
I say, Avhy not — you kncAV Avhosc blood AA^as in its veins. 
She used to rock and sing to it in this room, you know, 
and the negroes say she comes in s^iirit and croons to her 
baby yet, and they hear the rocking crib in motion at mid- 
night. Yes, yes, this will remind you of old times. Noav, 
we Avill go into the garden. See here, the geraniums* 
PerhaiJs you are aAvare she was very fond of flowers' 
especially of geraniums. It’s Amry like Avhat it used to be 
when new — I say, I’ve made it Amry like.” 

Anthony led him thus about the grounds recalling 
everything that, by contrast Avith his ju’esent condition, 
would serve to render him miserable ; and finally on 
reaching the gate gave him the last tongue thrust, Avhich 
James MathcAVS Avas called upon to endure. 

^^You Avant to travel, James Mathews; it will prolong 


202 


OLD ANTHONY 8 SECRET. 


your life, if it fails to bring you happiness. It will be the 
most healthy for you beyond the Mississippi. Don’t re_ 
main on this side. You will be very old and very poor 
among strangers ; but they are a charitable people and will 
not refuse you food and shelter if you ask for it. Of course 
you will feel free, especially if you change your name. If 
you feel too old and weak to walk about, there are houses 
provided for the poor. Here are one hundred dollars, 
sufficient to take you beyond the Mississippi. The sooner 
you go the better — I say, the sooner the better.” He de- 
parted from his sarcastic manner for an instant in con- 
clusion : — 

“I cursed you fifty years ago, it is fulfilled. Your 
crimes are recompensed, my vengeance is satisfied — I say, 
it is satisfied ! ” 

James Mathews had passed through a fearful ordeal. 
He had no tongue with which to return a curse. No heart 
that could maintain even a pretense of boldness in the face 
of so dark a retrospect^as Anthony had brought up before 
him. He rode away with drooping head, in a state of 
almost mental paralysis — wordless. He had remained as 
silent as a mute from first to last. That very afternoon 
Anthony went over to Adair and sat a long time by the un- 
marked grave, and communed with the invisible presence 
Avhom he called Mary. I have not ventured to pronounce 
upon Thomas Halford's sanity, for very sufficient reasons, 
which apply with equal force to Anthony. It was as- 
suredly a very strange thing for so discreet and apparently 
practical a man, to formally invite the aforesaid Mary 
in her sublimated form to Mount Yerder. He appeared 
also to have assured himself that the invitation had been 
accepted, for he appropriated to her use a particular cham- 
ber, which thereafter he kept carefully garnished with 
flowers for her enjoyment. He had been ruled by a sin- 
gle idea for half a century. It could scarcely be realized 
without danger to his reason. 


OLD Anthony's secret. 


203 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE SCIENCE OF DELAY HAS ITS SECOND VICTIM IN 
GRATER VS. BALFORD. 

Tliomas Balfoni had obtained a rehearing. He had 
lieen for some time domiciled at the Capital Hotel in 
Frankfort, awaiting the performance of the tinal act in 
the tedious drama of Grater vs. Balford, et al Nearly ten 
years had passed since Anthony Grater had told Judge 
Free to begin the suit upon the notes. Thomas Balford’s 
head was unmixed with silver when it began; it Avas an 
iron-gray now, and in other particulars he liad begun to 
put on the garb of old age. Old .Anthony's fringe of sil- 
ver could grow no whiter, nor his wrinkles much deeper 
than they were when he was first introduced to the reader, 
but his now unsteady nerves are evidenced by his trem- 
bling hands, and a palsied shaking ot the head, that woidd 
never stay still, were the legitimate fruits of anxiety, of 
hopes deferred, and stimulated fears. Upon the rehear- 
ing the Supreme Court sustained the former opinion ren- 
dered in the case. It was the final and crushing blow to 
any hope Thomas Balford might have entertained. For 
a long time the suit had held exclusive possession of his 
mind ; and while anticipating results, those dark resolves 
that had found expression years before began to arrange 
themselves in his thoughts and take definite shape. He 
devoted himself to the contemplation of that deed which 
the invisible arbiters of destiny, had, as it seemed to him. 
through the witch of the Wilderness, declared to be the 
fitting and therefore unavoidable culmination ot the 
tragedy of Grater vs. Balford el af.—iho deed that should 
fulfill the promise of a Balford to his sister, since it seemed, 
in some manner to appease her spirit, that deed that should 
array public opinion against the farcial administration of 


204 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


justice, through the science of delay — that deed that should 
bring his sister’s wrongs before the masses, and insure the 
trial of her cause at the bar of public opinion — that deed 
that involved also the sacrifice of his own life. 

He had passed one of his sleepless nights, walking the 
floor of his apartment in the hotel, and after his few hours 
of profound slumber, he had gone out to inhale, as it seemed, 
the fresh air of Spring, for it was at the latter end of 
March. But it was not the fragrant breath of the morn- 
ing, nor the grateful colors of flowers and grasses, neither 
the matin songs of tlie wild warblers, that had enticed 
him forth. He was debating a question of life and death, 
and trying to determine the fate of the Chief Justice of 
the Supreme Court, as he passed up and down before his 
door. In the front yard were playing several young chil- 
dren. The Chief Justice was their father. He was plead- 
ing, as it were, with Fate to spare their father. He was 
picturing forth the grief of those innocent children, should 
the dire calamity of their father’s death fall suddenly 
upon them and turn all their joyance into mourning. He 
was considering whether outraged Justice might not be 
propitiated by a less terrible sacrifice. He leaned upon 
the gate and for a long time watched the gambols of the 
children. His memory went back to his own childhood 
and his heart softened as he gazed. He resolved to save 
the father on the children’s account, and went back to the 
hotel. He shortly thereafter came down the broad steps 
carrying an umbrella in his hand, and went straight to the 
house of another of the Judges. It was he who had de- 
livered the last and final judgment. His lady was pres- 
ent. She was a more eflicient guard over the life of her 
husband than a troop of soldiers ; for Thomas Balford 
was a gentleman and did not hesitate to stake his life even 
upon nice questions of courtesy and etiquette. He would 
rather place a pistol to his own head than deliberately kill 
his worst enemy in the immediate presence of a lady. She 
was very much afraid and suspicious of Thomas Balford, 


OLD Anthony’s secret- 2(^ 

aud remained near her husband, while the former talked 
quite calmly of the adverse decision. He had left his um- 
brella in the hall below among others standing in the 
rack ; and when he had bidden them a pleasant good- 
morning, he stopped in the hall below, and called in a most 
friendly voice to the Judge above to come down and tel] 
him if he knew which was his own umbrella. But Madam 
bade the Judge, who had risen to his feet, remain and she 
tripped lightly down with the remark that the Judge 
would find himself in quite as great a dilemma as Mr. 
Balford, should he attempt to designate which was which. 

“I have no doubt he would have met with ditficulty, 
madam. Thank you!” said Thomas Balford. She sus- 
pected a sinister meaning. Later in the day, he stood 
upon the steps of the hotel arrayed in liuiiting costume, 
with his gun under his arm, and game bag slung over his 
shoulder. Judge Elcott was coming across the street 
toAvard him. It was years ago since the witch of the 
Wilderness had interpreted his future. He liad not 
thought of it of late but rarely. lie was the most popu- 
lar Judge on the Supreme Bench, and the people of his 
State could bestow upon him no greater gift, no more hon- 
orable distinction. Even if he had looked upon her divina- 
tion as other than a happy gue*ss, that had been realized 
its gloomy close had neither been anticipated nor dreaded^ 
There was certainly no shadow of a dread eA^ent to come 
upon his soul Avlieii he bade Thomas Balford a pleasant 
good-day. The latter invited him to go snipe hunting^ 
and when the invitation was declined, Avith that strange 
deliberation that characterized all his acts, he raised his 
gun to Judge Elcott’s breast and fired. The Judge fell 
dead upon the pavement, and his assassin took off his OAvn 
soft felt hat and kneeling koAvn placed it carefully under 
his victim’s head for a pilloAV. 

‘‘The judicial robbery and assassination of my sister was 
courteously done,” he said. ‘T arn sorry that I have been 
compelled to do it,” the bystanders heard him say. Then 


206 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 


he kissed liis gun and handed it to an officer who arrived 
upon the scene. 

“For God’s sake, Balford, why have you killed Judge 
Elcott?” exclaimed Nathaniel Gautier as, hastening from 
the hotel, on hearing the shrieking of the ladies and shouts 
of the men, he stood horrified before the body of his old 
friend and playfellow. 

“Why have you killed him ? ” 

“I wish to try my sister’s case.” 

It told the stouy to Nathaniel Gautier. lie interpreted 
it in the light of what he had heard drop from his lips 
aforetime. The science of delay should have such a vic- 
tim, in the person of a popular Judge, that the case of 
Grater vs. Balford, et al, would not quickly be forgotten, 
uor his sister’s wrongs pass unnoticed. He expected to be 
the third victim himself, and that the enraged i)o])ulac(3 
would execute summary vengeance upon him. Indeed 
the dark scowls and fierce mutterings, and distant calls of 
“hang him, hang him ! ” foretold such a doom if the arm of 
the State had not been interposed to save him. He had 
yielded himself up calmly a prisoner, and a company of 
State Guards stood on duty to guard him from mob 
violence. 

“If it had been a personal matter,’’ he said to Nathaniel 
Gautier, “I should have been bound by the code. Tlu^ 
public good required a victim. I have given it two, Judge 
Elcott and myself. I had a mind to sacrifice more. A 
redeemer was necessary to call attention to judicial rob- 
bery and slow murder through the science of delay.” 

The cry was upon every tongue in Frankfort: “Tom 
Balford has shot Judge Elcott.’’ It reached the ears of 
Minnie Elcott. Poor Minnie ! With clasped hands she 
shrieked: “I feared him! My God, he has killed my 
Mountain King! ■’ She fell into the arms of her attend- 
ants and became insensible. Consciousness returned, but 
her health forsook her, never to be regained, A thrill of 
indignant horror passed through the Commonwealth, and 


OLD ANTliONr’s : 5 ECKET. 


207 


the fearful deed shocked the iiatiou. On all sides was it 
demanded that the majesty of the law should be vindica- 
ted. Yet there were few to reflect that whether sane or 
iiisq-ne, it was with some vague notion of vindicating the 
law’s majesty, through public opinion, that Thomas Bal- 
ford immolated himself and him whom he deemed vir- 
tually at the head of the judiciary. 

It is necessary to leave Thomas Balford in jail. As the 
science of delay will be resorted to in his behalf, he is 
likely to remain there a long time before it is determined 
whether he be sane or insane, guilty or not guilty of 
murder. 


C IT AFTER XXXTI. 

MISS LIZZIE SUCCEEDS VERY NEARLY IN BECOMING THE 
WIFE OF THE SECRETARY OF STATE. 

Nathaniel Gautier had escorted the widow of his old 
friend to Adair, after he had assisted in laying the latter 
away among the State’s honored dead. It was early in 
June. She had not been able to travel until then. 

Miss Lizzie Mathews professed to and indeed she prob- 
ably did And it lonesome living at Belmont. Her father 
had fled from justice. She never expected to see him 
again alive, and felt assured that his dissipated habits 
would soon urge his tottering feet into the grave. There 
had been little affection manifested toward each other at 
any time, and save on her own account she indulged in 
no* grief.' She was proud, and felt the stigma that his 
crime had fixed upon his name. The reflection that she 
would be referred to in society as his daughter was a per- 
manent source of annoyance. She would never dare men- 
tion his name. She did not pretend to cultivate the place. 
Old Anthony had sent Jim Little to do that, while the 
house servants were under her control, and recognized her 


208 


OLD ANTHONY’S SECRET. 


as mistress. She spent most of her time at Adair, be- 
cause she was so lonesome, she said. 

“Just think of my remaining there week after week 
with no one to speak to but the negroes. It is dreadful, 
Mrs. Gautierl” 

^^Well, well,” that kind hearted old lady had replied, 
^‘come and stay with me, I am lonesome too while Mollie 
is away at school. It is wonderful how the child has 
grown. Why she is a woman in mind and body — well, 
why not? she will be sixteen in a few days. But she’s so 
staid and thoughtful, I call her grandmother sometimes. 

Miss Lizzie was at Mrs. Gautier’s when Nathaniel Gau- 
tier arrived. She Avas the first to Avelcome him, in a man- 
ner to all appearances so subdued and tender, as to recall 
at once all the trials she had passed and sufiering she had 
assumedly endured in silence. She had clearly gathered 
from his letters in Avhich he had time and time again 
verged upon a declaration of love, a cue to the role it was 
necessary to play. 

Nathaniel Gautier took her hand in his and pressed it 
to his lips impulsively. His heart was full of pity. 

,, “Miss Lizzie, I will — ” He hesitated and they 

Avalked on. 

“You will what, Mr. Gautier?” 

' “I shall endeavor to bring Anthony into assuming a 
more generous attitude toward you, my dear girl.” 

“Oh, thanks, Mr. Gautier, but I think he is pitiless. 
What of that ? Avherein does he differ from other men ? 
Oh ! Mr. Gautier, are you not all suspicious, and do you 
not use your power unmercifully, and enjoy the happiness 
of your thralls?” Again her face Avas very near to his 
own, and her eyes which she turned from him Avere full 
of tender and passionate utterance more eloquent than her 
tongue. Pity Avas fully aroused. He felt convicted of 
cruelty. His suspicions Avere uncharitable, and it was 
wrong, criminal to trifle Avith her affections, dally with 
the young girl’s love. He turned and met her uplifted 


OLD Anthony's secret. 


201 ^ 


eyes full of their pleading. He pressed lier hand, and 
placed his arm gently about her. 

‘‘My darling girl, you feel utterly alone, would it at all 
contiMit you if I 

‘•Nathaniel! Nalhaniel ! *’ ealbnl Mrs. (rautier from the 
iVont j)oreh. 

‘•What is it, Mother ? " 

•‘L am afraid," said his mother advancing, “that you will 
<lelay until loo late to get the mail this evening, and I ex- 
j)eet a lett(3r from Mollie. Come, run away, my son ; it 
must have been distributed an hour since.” 

‘•That must be Fate,'' muttered the young Gentleman 
of Adair as he walked away, leaving the darling girl in 
the care of his mother. 


CHAFTEll XXX 111. 

NATHANIEL GAUTtEH DISCERNS WHO THE FATES HAVE 
CHOSEN FOR HIS WIFE. ANTHONV's REVELATIONS. 

There were letters at the office. There was one in par- 
ticular for himself which he hasteiuHl to open, and whose 
perusal changed th(‘ whole current of his thoughts and 
temporarily, at haist, released him from the spell of his 
enchantress. It read as follows : 

••Dear, dear Nat! I am in such trouble! Good Grandpa 
Anthony has written me such a strange, strange letter! 1 
feel like one shipwrecked at sea. Won’t you come to my 
rescue, and teach me how, to jiaddh* my life-boat 1 must 
tind a haven with darling Mother Gautier for a little. His 
letter I enclose, and it will explain itsidf. He has been so 
kind, oh! so ver\ kind and watchful, ev(u- since I was a 
little child, but he has bidden me scratch for myself now, 
in a generous way though, and I bless him. I say. God 
bless him ! H<‘ is right, quite right. It’s what I say in 

my prayers : God bless you all, dear Nat ! He has sent 
me a beautiful wardrobe as a parting gift. I did look 
forward to the happiness of ministering to him in his last 


1>10 


(JLD ANTHONY 5>- HKCKKI'. 


years, and evincing iny love and gratitude, lie has been 
HO faithful, Nat, to that promise he made my poor mother, 
and so have you, my noble guardian. 1 fear the sacrifice 
has been very great. How can I ('ver n'pay you ? 1 have 

graduated.” 

The substance! of old ANthony^s letter to her was as 
follows : 

Mollik Sawyer : — I expect to leave Adair — I say, when 
this reaches you, I shall be absent from Adair. You are 
sixteen years of age, and Nathaniel Gautier’s guardian- 
ship ceases, lie has been true to a promise he made me, and 
it has been hard to keep — I say, there are fcAv young men 
who could have kept it. 1 am fond of Nathani(‘l Gautier. 
Most men who wag flattering tongues are deceitful. Ho is 
an exception. I am very old and must free myself from 
all care. I must set my house in order, dispose of iny 
property I mean. I have kin to give it to — 1 say, 1 shall 
give it to my kin. You Avill take your mother's cottage, 
and I have deposited a thousand dollai-s in bank for you. 
I say, you have been a great blessing to mc,Molli(! Sawyer. 
I may spare you something more. You have been a great 
student, and will graduate about the time this i-eachesyou. 
Nathaniel Gautier will have returued to Adair before; then. 
He and Mrs. Gautier will advise with you in regard p> 
your interests, now that you are cut loose from guardian- 
ship — I say, now that you are free from control. 

I am, very affectionately, your grandpa, 

Antho.w. 

‘‘VV’ell, well, my Lily blossom. I will go to your rescue at 
once,” murmured Nathaniel Gautieu-. He covertly kissed 
her letter ere he put it in his pocket. A new tide of feel- 
ing had doubtless set in with the perusal of Mollie’s letter^ 
No opportunity offered that evening for the (;omi)letiou of 
the sentence which had been interrupted by his mother’s 
call, and he did not seek one. Early in the morning he 
was in the saddle and on his way to Daughter’s College. 
Heretofore the girl, whom latterly he had met at long in- 
tervals, seemed very young. He had not seen her during 
the preceding holidays at all. Business of State kept him 
absent from Adair just at that time, ancl he had not 


211 


OLD Anthony’s secret. 

Oionglif how his Lily blossoiri coiikl chang-o in a year He 

was altogether unprepared for the yisioii that burst upo.i 
him in a long and fashionable dress of rich brocade. Still 
It was his old time Lily blossom who rushed fonvard with 
a joyous cry to meet him, and Bung her arms about his 
ueck. He seemed to compreboud in that instant, whom 
the Fates had chosen for his wife. When she had aske.l 
once more on their way home what she could do to repay 
him for all hi.s care, he told her that if she could find her 
gratitude equal to the sacrifice, she might cancel all obli- 
g-atioiis by becoming his wife. 

“Why, Kat, I haven’t tliought of that of late at all, 
although I used to be very much afraid you would marry 
Lizzie Mathevrs because I never could like her. But you 
know, Nat, I love you better than anybody, and if you 
lliink T can make you happy why — why ” 

“Why, you will be my little wife in good time, and you 
have made me very happy.” 

Thus was it settled. lie had asked her for a wife wliom 
old Anthony, personifying Fate, many years before had 
chosen for him. Nor did they suspect that the cuuning 
old man had written his letter to Mollie in expectation of 
the result that followed. He, too, through an iutuition 
remarkable in one who had led a life so excluded and who 
had been absorbed- by the mouey-hoardiug mania, had 
speculated upon the effect of exciting Nathaniel Gau- 
lieFs sympathy for his forsaken ward— there was an ear- 
lier experience fresh in his memory, (hat had rendered 
him familiar with such springs of human emotion, and 
such incentives to action. 

He astouished them by his presence wlien they arrived 
home from the College. He was there both to lift the 
load he had placed upon the spirit of his young protege 
and to give the finishing stroke, if need wore, to his little 
coup d' etat. 

“Oh, Grandpa Anthony, I was afraid you had gofie 
away and that I might never see you again!” She 


212 


OLD ANTIIOJS Y S SECRET. 


placed her arm so tenderly about the old man’s neck as he 
sat and began, as in her infancy, to stroke his bald head 
and smooth his fringe of white hair. Then she stooped 
and kissed his old face. His lips tnmibled, and his old 
eyes grew moist. 

^^ut you have been very unkind, Grandpa Anthony.’’ 

“In what, Mollie — I say, in what have I been unkind ? 

“Tn denying me the poor privilege, after all you have 
done for me, of doing ail 1 can in love and gratitude, to 
comfort your old age. Oh, Grandpa Anthony, don’t ban- 
ish me now. Give all your property to your kin, they 
ought to have it — you have done for me already more 
than I deserve-T-but be my Grandpa Anthony still and let 
me be your Mollie Sawyer.” 

“No, not your Mollie Sawyer, but your Mollie Gautier^ 
Mr. Grater. She has chosen me guardian for life.” 

“Well, well I ” exclaimed the old man rising, “let it be 
so — I say, let it be so. Bless you, my children! ” and he 
laid his trembling old hands solemnly upon the heads of 
both, and his lips murmured something which they could 
3iot understand. Mrs. Gautier placed her arms about 
Mollie, kissed her again and again, and cried over her. 

“Has Miss Mathews gone to the country. Mother?” 

Mrs. Gautier looked significantly at Anthony. 

“She is provided for — I say, I have changed my mind 
and given her the Sawyer cottage and the thousand dol- 
lars I promised you, Mollie Sawyer. Yon won’t need it 
now — I say, you won’t need it.” 

“I’m glad of tliat. It's very hard for her to be deprived 
of everything,” said Mollie. 

“Very well. Bring lier over to Mount Verder tomorrow 
morning, Nathaniel Gautier. If she takes care of 'me she 
must be mistress of the old place of Mount Verder, and I 
have something to tell you both — I say, I have something* 
you both must hear.” 

When they met him in the morning he had laid aside 
his ancient habiliments, and appeared to welcome them in 


OLD ANTHONY S SECUET. 


213 


a smart dress, and this is what he wished to sa}' to them : 

‘•It is now some fifty -five years since I first came to this 
))art of the country — I say, fifty-live years. I was the 
only son 6f my parents, and botli were dead. It was be- 
cause tliey had lately died and 1 was depressed in spirit 
tiiat I sought this solitude — I say, I was oppressed with 
melancholy. I rented this very farm, before the building 
of this house, frc^m Malcolm Verdcr, and lived in that 
cabin yonder. I had money but did not wish to buy. Mal- 
colm Verder had two daughters. The younger one had, a 
short time before my arrival, gone to Louisville and there 
married.” 

“Quite right, sir,” said the witch of the Wilderness 
suddenly entering the room. “And you never saw her 
until she spoke to you on the Court House Steps long ago, 
1 am Elizabeth Perkins nee Verder. May I be seated? ” 

“What, woman, are you Mary’s sister? Yes, I see you 
are like her — I say, you resemble Mary. You can have a 
seat and a home if you desire. I say, I’m glad to see you^ 
I'm very glad.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Grater, but my own home suits me best. 
I have been here before, I have haunted the house, I have 
scowled on Thomas Balford through the prison bars, and 
my work is done. I leave him to the i^hantoms ot his 
his own brain, who killed my son.” 

“You have been doing me good — I say, you have given 
me warning. And you are Mary’s sister ? ” 

“Go oil with your story if you please, Anthony Grate i-^ 
I will listen. Tell us of Mary.” 

“Well, well, I will. James MatheAvs and I were suit- 
ors for her hand. I Avas accepted — I say, Ave grew to love 
each other very dearly. Yes, yes — ” 

The old man stopped. He became lo-t in reA^erie, and 
they Avaited. 

“There are places made sacred to me in the groAx, yonder. 
We AA’^cre secretly married, and afterAvards reconciled to 
her father. Then James Mathews sought revenge, and 


214 


OLD ANTHONY 1? SECUfET. 


laid a scheme in wliich he was aided by a number of his 
wild companions. Disguised they kidnapped me one 
night as I was returning from Adair, carried me into the 
mountains and imprisoned me in a cave, where I was 
guard(Hl and well nigh starved — 1 say, they reduced me to 
a mere skeleton in eight mouths, and I almost lost my rea- 
son. It was reported, and the report gained credence, that 
J had been robbed and murdered. It was a wild country 
then — I say, there was little order in society and it seemed 
probable. Meanwhile, Janies Mathews held a very heavy 
claim against Malcolm Verder, on which the honest old 
man had confessed judgment. There was no money to 
be had, and thje villain made it a condition that he should 
receive from the old man subject to his life estate, all his 
laud and Mary in marriage, otherwise he would sell on ex- 
ecution every foot of land the old man owned. Mary and 
her father entreated the heartless villain in vain. I say^ 
the villain ! his punishment has been light. Her old 
father must bo made a beggar as well as herself. He tried 
to destroy himself. Mary was in despair. She told Jafnes 
Mathews that she would soon become a mother. They 
would be formally married, that was all. She would learn 
to love him and call him husband in time, he said Hei* 
father was in despair. To save him she consented believ- 
ing me dead. Our child was Imrn after their marriage. 
But he married her only for revenge — I say, fur vile re- 
venge, ajid taunted her daily. In five months he put her 
jTi her grave on the mountain, yonder, at Adair. It is an 
unmarked grave. I shall be laid by her side. Oh, had I 
shown her the spot where my gold was buried, they mighi 
have been saved. At the end of eight months I made irjy 
escape, and the ruffians who guarded me disap])eared — 
I killed them — I say, they were never heard of. I learned 
all from the lips of the dying old man, and I swore to 
him that I would revenge them. James Mathews never 
knew that I had crept into his house and into - the old 
man’s room. He deemed me ignorant of our child’s 


OLU ANTHONVS SECKET. 


31i 


birth ; aiul when he pleaded with me for mercy, he had 
the audacity — I say, the villain said : ‘You have no kin. 
But I was not myself for some time — I say, I was well 
nigh craz(id. When I came to myself t was in the cavo 
at the mouth of which I have dwelt for so long — I say, I 
.was in the cave counting my gold, and muttering vcn- 
gf3ance. I began by hoarding all 1 made for a purpo8(‘, 
i ended in hoarding it for itself. It was your child face 
and loving ways, Mollie Sawyer, that first broke that 
spell — I say, you first weaned me away from the worship 
of my gold, and stimulated my original purpose to be re- 
venged, not suddenly — ^1 say, but by slow degrees.'’ 

“And your child. Grandpa Anthony ? ” 

“Was put out to nurse, neglected — 1 say, disowned. But 
I made her life a happy one and she died knowing I was 
her father. She was your mother, Mollie Sawyer ; yot 
are my kin, the mistress of Mount Verder, and of much 
beside — I say, much beside.” 

Her arms are about his neck, and she is murmuring 
“grandpa, grandpa! It has anew meaning. Come away. 


— Some nine months after the assassinatioM. 
Thomas Balford was, after a change of venue, brought to 
trial. His brothers came to his rescue, and able counsel 
set up insanity as a defense. The trial lasted several 
weeks, and he was found guilty of murder Nearly a 
vear later, after a specially app<>int<al SupreiiK! Court 
^'ranted a new trial, he w.as again tried, aei|uitl(:d on the 
plea of insanitv and sent to the asylum, lie grew w<'ary 
of the asvium at the end of the year, and leaving it 
crossed the Oliio into Indiana. Tliere the officers of the 
asylum followed him, and found him with hook and line 
engaged in fishing. He met tliem with old time courtesy, 
rem-eUiug that Im could not rofurn with them. Itnt the 


216 


OLD ANTHONYS SFXRKT. 


assassin’s brand was on him. All who knew liim avoided 
him. He was moneyless and could no longer appear and 
live like a Balford. His life was a terrible burden. His 
deed had in truth horrified the nation, but the science of 
delay still impeded Justice as before. It had even i)r(* vented 
Justice being meted out to himself. It had found at length 
a jury to say that the science of delay had driven him in- 
sane while waiting for limping Justice, and that therefore 
it was just that he should not be hung. He voluntarily 
returned to the asylum and there remained waiting for 
death to release him from his earth-hell. It was five 
years after his last trial before his imperious si)irit was 
released. Judge Free still lives to talk satirically of his 
profession, but old Anthony sleeps by the side of his young 
wife, and a marble tombstone marks the resting place of 
the old negro and records his virtues in the terms of the 
impromptu epitaph which the reader will remember to 
have fallen from the lips of Nathaniel G-autier. 


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